Category Archives: personal growth

Loving Lessons from Saint by Sierra Simone

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My dear friends, thank you for tolerating the continuous gushing about my romance immersion, 12 months now and still going strong! This post is about more than just the smut, I promise.

Disclosure: Spoilers!

My review of Saint by Sierra Simone on Goodreads (MM = male/male):

“Only my second MM romance. Captivating. So empathically and compassionately written, descriptions of the intrinsic experiences of mental illness, moral conflict, honest self-exploration and accountability open listeners’ minds and hearts to the depth of our fellow humans’ emotional, spiritual, and relational lives–with self as well as others. Sierra Simone‘s voluminous and passionate love of and attention to history shine so brightly, and her writing is both utterly sophisticated and completely relatable. Again, as in Sinner, social commentary is rendered gently, if clearly. This book could be read/heard and thoroughly enjoyed simply as sexy, contemporary romance. And with just a little more contemplation, its meaning and impact become so clearly and importantly much, much more.
Jacob Morgan‘s and Sean Crisden‘s performances move and resonate. Morgan’s accents bring us to Belgium and France with vocal ease. The narrators’ expert acting proves that voice alone is enough to convey all we need to know and feel another’s experience.”

OK SO: Sierra Simone. O.M.G, a QUEEN of language and expression, holy cow! Of all the romance authors whose work I have now consumed (and there are so many more, I will not know them all in this lifetime), her voice stands out, rich and vibrant. “…utterly sophistocated and completely relatable”–maybe I aspire to be so, hence my zealous admiration–because while I cannot think of better words to decribe her work, I know she can.

I have now listened to all three full length novels in the Priest Collection and I highly recommend them all. Jacob Morgan narrates with others, and his voice acting is simply superb, so honest and real. Inspired to listen by the Facebook Shaneiaks group live chat with Sierra and Shane East, once again I cannot thank this community enough for broadening my exposure, experience, and insights from fiction! Sierra is known for her explicitly erotic writing, and she describes in the chat how she came to commit, BOOBS OUT you might say, to writing spicy (‘ghost pepper’ level) romance for her own creative fulfillment. It so happens that doing this resonates deeply with readers and listeners everywhere–such a shining example of the far-reaching ripple benefits of open and audacious authenticity. I was moved to tears by Sinner and to deep thought by Saint, to the point of ordering the latter in print to annotate–only the second print romance I own so far.

The thoughts and feelings evoked by these stories almost escape verbalization. Journaling to untangle it all, I could only list the broad topics approached, addressed, probed, and articulated, individually and all intersecting: Racism. Religion. Spirituality. Grief. Blame. Conflict. Paradox. Love. Lust. Intimacy. Self-delusion. Fear. Shame. Communion. Self-love. Self-compassion. Honesty. Reconciliation. Peace. Commitment. Flexibility. AND. Reformation. Relationship, omg: Parental. Fraternal. Platonic. Romantic. Intimate. Carnal. Spiritual. Intellectual. Multidimensional. Eternal. It’s all an intense, existential jumble, yet conveyed wholly and elegantly in a couple hundred pages of writing, through only dialogue and narrative. Amazing.

The Catholic Church. Simone notes at the beginning of Priest: “I spent the majority of my life in the Catholic faith, and while I’m no longer Catholic, I still have the utmost affection and respect for the Catholic Church… That being said, this novel is about a Catholic priest falling in love. There is sex, more sex, and definitely some blasphemy. (The fun kind).” Her attitude toward the church is respectful, even reverent, as she clearly acknowledges its flaws and failures. Her criticism is loving, never disparaging or rude. How would our world be altered if more of us could take this approach to change and justice?

I think I liked Saint in particular because of the courageous and difficult journey Aiden takes toward integration–to know that he may carve a unique and unprecedented path to being wholly devoted to God without sacrificing any part of himself. I wanted so much for him to embrace that infinity loop of polarity navigation–self-acceptance and independence from dogma and wholehearted communal spiritual participation. Simone’s portayal of church leaders, always local and in personal relationship with the heroes, is so empathetic–they exemplify the ideal spiritual leaders and pastors–helping people through their personal conflicts and crises with love, compassion, humility, and non-judgment.

Characters on journeys to becoming their whole selves, loving each other in the process, helping each other self-actualize–is that what moves me? Isn’t that what heals? In the context of a social structure that has so much of its own paradox–such profound benefits of faith and community and also radically high risk for severe dysfunction, omg… Is there an institution other than religion, that harbors such gaping potential for both healing and harm?

Simone shows how to maintain a loving, open perspective, accepting both poles of the Church, by writing how three brothers in one family react to the same trauma (sister sexually assaulted by priest, later dying by suicide)… Her books do not generalize, dehumanize, demonize, or judge anyone or anything in broad strokes. She does not throw anyone or anything away, nor does she dismiss, excuse, minimize, or deflect. The novels don’t necessarily explore deeply–or I should say explicitly? They are not political or sociological commentary at their core. But through the characters’ struggles and stories, we get to consider myriad gray areas and dig, if we wish, patiently and lovingly, into deeper meaning, both collective and individual, shared and private. The characters’ relationships bridge diversity of race, gender, sexuality, and other aspects of humanity; their moments of epiphany, empathy, and connection emerge in gentle starkness, drawing readers/listeners into vicarious, second hand emotional education.

The ancillary characters all play important roles–obvious and blatant in message–necessarily. They remind me of my own role as physician: I get to observe you, my patient, and your life, as a third party. I am not in your life with you, for the most part. I get to stand and walk next to you when you come to me; I witness. I can know you, and you get to control (much of) that. I can only pry so much; you can choose to withhold. And I may still, if I pay attention, see you. Because our relationship is low-stakes and imbalanced (my role is only to survey and advise, much like the mentors, teachers, and pastors in these stories), I have the freedom to speak frankly, objectively, and lovingly… You may receive my advice more openly than from loved ones because of my credentials and the nature of our relationship. What a fascinating and meaningful privilege.

I wonder how people reject these stories–what do they object to, what are the emotions, triggers, rationalizations, and other factors? To me, these stories can be taken as lessons in honesty. Maybe that’s why I love them so much, because honesty is important to me, and barriers to honesty and self-relection can be formidable in the context of such strong, dogmatic social norms as in the Catholic Church, so heavily steeped in ritual, tradition, and institutionalization. Maybe I see these stories as exemplary works for culture change–fiction as vehicle for social movement–duh-HA! Does anyone expect that from romance? It’s unexpected and, I think, deliciously subversive. Such artful integration, BRAVA. More, please.

God bless Sierra Simone and authors everywhere and in all times, who make us think, feel, and connect, to be and do better.

Acceptance Is Not Always Joyous, Turns Out

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*Cosmic laughter* and some tears… HOW FASCINATING!

I wrote my last post on the liberation of acceptance in a state of sincere joy and revelation; I still stand by the whole piece. And, the last ten days have humbled me with my own premise. I have struggled for a good 20 years to negotiate, reconcile, and yes, accept, certain hard realities in my life. Looking back, I’ve come a long way, suffering much less now from self-induced frustration and rage than at the turn of the millenium. Ten days ago I honestly thought I had come to that joyous place of whole-hearted acceptance and creativity, looking ahead and feeling ready to charge forward and invent my new way of being and doing.

And I was ready–in my thinking mind. This happens sometimes, that I understand a concept in my newly evolved, analytical brain, express it eloquently in words, and think I’m done (see ‘self-delusion’ in the last post). I can observe patterns and understand logically that certain things will not change. I can create strategies to suffer less by changing my rational expectations. I can plan to take alternative action in the future when I encounter typical and recurrent friction. I can think my way to practical solutions and cognitive peace.

I don’t realize the gap. Then my feeling mind catches up and catches me off guard, knocking me on my ass for a while. Turns out acceptance occurs in layers.

“When I accept the thing, I can put it down, let it be.” Writing this, I had forgotten that while carrying the intellectual burden of the thing I don’t accept, I hold with it an unrealistic hope, an emotional investment, in the thing being other than it is. The latter is not rational; it’s qualitative, limbic, and drives my thoughts and behavior from a place that has no capacity for language. So when I truly, honestly put the thing down, I experience a deep and ineffable sense of grief at letting go–abandoning–my sentimental hope and investment, unrealistic as they were.

I even wrote about it! “Anger, jealousy, self-loathing, grief, sadness, conflict, …: Allow it.” This is where the cosmic laughter chortles now–allowing grief and sadness means feeling them, DUH! Seriously, is avoidance of that discomfort the basis for all of my non-acceptance this whole time? I’m not sure, but even if it is, I don’t judge myself for it. Discomfort aversion is a fundamental survival reflex, the impulse for which originates in deeper, even more primitive parts of the brain than the limbic system. And I imagine that the epiphany I describe in this post is still nowhere near the last stop on my train ride of self-discovery and -education. It’s an important waystation, though.

This past week I hunckered down, allowing the grief and sadness more openly, with more vulnerability. It felt like wallowing for a bit, if I’m honest. I journaled rivers of ink, forsaking my intended blogging schedule. I did a lot of escape and comfort reading (YAY, smutty romance!). I attended to the hard feelings gently, embracing them (at times as if I were hugging a cactus, but still). And it helped. The sadness and discomfort dissipated, and I soon felt lightness and relief, if not quite joy, on this side of it.

I sense now a slow shift, a reorientation. I am able today, at least partially, to show up differently to my reality, which feels new and different from even two weeks ago: less heavy, more fluid and flexible. I carry fewer rocks in my emotional rucksack now; made a cairn with them these last days. And yeah, I can feel some joy coming on.

The Joyous Liberation of Radical Acceptance

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Happy Happy 50th Birthday to me!

I’ve been 50 for over two weeks now and could not be happier about it! Do I obsess about my age? Maybe. But whatever, I’m having a great time and it’s all because I’ve lived long enough to acquire some wisdom, and may yet live a while longer to exercise it all. What a privilege and a joy.
Middle age. Awesome.
I’m like a vintage car now. If I wanna keep driving smoothly, I’ gotta invest in the maintenance. My value continues to grow, and I can revel in some positive attention I get for being my real, colorful, sparkly, strong, BOOBS OUT, middle aged self.

Why is aging so difficult to accept? Why do we resist so fiercely?

Maybe we equate acceptance with resignation? Is it a conventional fallacy, like if we admit that we are ‘old’ then by definition we are decrepit and obsolete, that only young people have value in and contribute to society?

Maybe it’s how we define ‘old’? Is 50 old? Is 30? 80? Is it a number, a mindset, a set of abilities? Does it matter?

Patients often ask me what they should expect to be able to do and not–usually physical things–based on their age. It’s impossible to answer, as each person is unique; and it’s not just about chronological age. It’s about what’s worth doing for each of us. What are your goals, how important are they to you, and what trade-offs are you willing and not willing to make to achieve them? What factors would alter these calculations? What are you willing to risk? What will you regret if you don’t get what you want, or hurt yourself (and/or others) in the pursuit?

What do you need to get to peace with your age, and the state of your body, mind, relationships, and life expectancy? Where can/do you still act with energy and power, despite new and cumulative constraints? What’s great about the now, and how can you maximize that, amplify and spread it?

Resist. Deny. Reject. Oppose. Deflect. Energy spent on these diversions is counterproductive, wasted. It keeps us tethered to exactly the thing we refuse to acknowledge. Opposition and denial are unidimensional and static. When I fight against an unwanted reality, it’s all I see, my sole focus–even as I actively deny it–how hilariously and tragically ironic. I show up tense, defensive, in fight or flight survival mode–often without knowing, or in metadenial–denial of my denial. I get nowhere and I’m all uhnappy about it. We are funny, we humans.

When I accept the thing, I can put it down, let it be. Even if I disagree with and dislike it, even if it causes me pain. Unburdened from carrying it (even as I deny carrying it), I can loosen my neck and shoulders, look up, breathe deeply and ask, “Okay, what now? What next?”
And here is where the magic happens.

Acceptance is dynamic. It liberates. When I stop denying, rejecting, and opposing, then I’m free to question, explore, discover, choose, invent, experiment, connect, and move.
Acceptance is the birthplace of possibility.

Anger, jealousy, self-loathing, grief, sadness, conflict, uncertainty, other people’s inexplicable behavior, your aging body: Allow it. Embrace it all. Hold it lightly and loosely or put it down, or just nod respectfully and leave it. We can choose this: to suffer less by simply accepting first. We get to decide then, consciously, what orientation to any reality is most consistent with our values, goals, joy, fulfillment, and peace. We do this by seeking the best questions instead of the usual ones. Make them open ended and relevant to you, now, here, as well as to your future best self. Talk things through with people who love you for who you are, who don’t judge, who accept you, whom you trust, and who will also hold you accountable.
Self-acceptance is fundamental and essential for a life of peace, and no less vital are true belonging and deep, honest communion with others.

OH I finally get it, I think! For so many years I have grappled with this paradoxical and counterintuitive idea that acceptance is the foundation of peace and change, and today I think I reached a new overlook on the climb. Acceptance is not resignation or wallowing; it is not tacit endorsement of what I don’t want. It is simply being with what is, including how I feel about, dispelling my self-delusions about the current reality. It is also understanding that that reality can and likely will change, and though I may not have control, I have agency: I can absolutely influence the direction of that change. And I don’t have to be grumpy and adversarial while I act–I can choose to do it all joyfully. How exciting! I am ready, let me at it!