Working backwards
Aug. 4th, 2005 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jawnbcI found myself wandering Oxford Street this evening, in search of distraction. Somewhat successful (gelato, CD shopping, some fellatio), I prepared for the short ride home, only to recognize familiarity in the evening, in the experience. Nearly 31 months ago. When I arrived in Sydney.
On those warm summer evenings I would be home from work by 17h45. It doesn’t take much time at all to cook for one: cook and clean for one, for that matter. I had a stunning view, and 4 free-to-air stations on my rented TV, but at my doorstep I had Sydney. Turn left and I was on George Street: cinemas, the Queen Victoria Building, Gowings. Go straight down Pitt Street and it was Dirt Cheap CDs (I treated myself to 1 $10 disque per week. OK 2), the Pitt Street Mall and David Jones and Grace Bros (now Meyer). I loved living in the CBD, in my 41st floor, to-die-faw view little apartment.
But to my right was gay Sydney. I’d meandre down through Hyde Park South, past the reflecting pool and War Memorial, directly towards Oxford Street. Some nights were easy to suss out: Tuesday was $10 at Kingsteam (a sauna), Friday night was bears night at the bar. There are two art cinemas farther along “the Strip” and I often treated myself to a film. And I committed to reading more, so the various booksellers on Oxford (queer and not) frequently factored into my itinerary. Not having a lot of money meant being frugal, but I tried to invest in my bliss. And I think that, for the most part, I invested wisely.
But I am a people person, in a sense. I need quality, consistent intimate contact with people. Not anyone, or everyone, but some. And despite my efforts to keep busy, there were many nights I succeeded in only treading water among the loneliness. Had I been 10 years younger (5? 20?) I would have perhaps sought bogus intimacy from sexual assignations; I could not and did not. And while I maintained my status as “special guest star” on the scene, my experiences there were frustrating. Even when I drank I found communicating in bars difficult; in sobriety I found it agitating. But Sydney is a scene city, and the scene remained the obvious venue for seeking some sort of connection.
But what sort of connection did I seek? As I walked down Oxford Street tonight, I was--for a moment--saddened that there were very few people I would seek out on an evening like this.
This is of my own making, and it’s the reality of being a partnered 40-something gay man. When I first came to Sydney I kept folks at arm’s length because my tenure here was to be brief. Then, as it turned out, the first wee posse of peeps with whom I connected had their own issues that were coming to a head. One admitted he never pursues friends, so his friends are all pursuers: I’m over that lopsided dynamic, and his comments were more observation than a starting off point for seeking change. Another moved overseas, though he and I shared an affinity for the other guys but not for each other. And the last fella was apparently not quite treading water very well...and struggled. And periodically disappeared. And, eventually, left town under a cloudy of innuendo. And I had met![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
querrelle. It’s very hard to balance between friends and a new partner. With no genuine friendships on the go here, it was very easy to collapse my social desires into my time with him.
When I moved back to Oz, I had to re-examine this arm’s length strategy and, to some extent, jettisoned it. I got involved in Bears more. I reached out to a few folks (Marko, Pól, Ian J) successfully. I started a new job and hoped for some potential friendships there (d’oh!). And before I knew it, we were talking about when we’d be moving to Canada. In a very real sense I never had more than 1.5 feet in Australia.
I retraced my steps, back to the bike. And as I got out my helmet and gloves and loaded my purchases into the boot, I smiled. Because I’d be home toquerrelle in about 6 minutes. And home in about 12 days. Where I might well choose to walk the street alone rather then seek companionship. Though it’s always there, nearby, when I avail myself of it.
On those warm summer evenings I would be home from work by 17h45. It doesn’t take much time at all to cook for one: cook and clean for one, for that matter. I had a stunning view, and 4 free-to-air stations on my rented TV, but at my doorstep I had Sydney. Turn left and I was on George Street: cinemas, the Queen Victoria Building, Gowings. Go straight down Pitt Street and it was Dirt Cheap CDs (I treated myself to 1 $10 disque per week. OK 2), the Pitt Street Mall and David Jones and Grace Bros (now Meyer). I loved living in the CBD, in my 41st floor, to-die-faw view little apartment.
But to my right was gay Sydney. I’d meandre down through Hyde Park South, past the reflecting pool and War Memorial, directly towards Oxford Street. Some nights were easy to suss out: Tuesday was $10 at Kingsteam (a sauna), Friday night was bears night at the bar. There are two art cinemas farther along “the Strip” and I often treated myself to a film. And I committed to reading more, so the various booksellers on Oxford (queer and not) frequently factored into my itinerary. Not having a lot of money meant being frugal, but I tried to invest in my bliss. And I think that, for the most part, I invested wisely.
But I am a people person, in a sense. I need quality, consistent intimate contact with people. Not anyone, or everyone, but some. And despite my efforts to keep busy, there were many nights I succeeded in only treading water among the loneliness. Had I been 10 years younger (5? 20?) I would have perhaps sought bogus intimacy from sexual assignations; I could not and did not. And while I maintained my status as “special guest star” on the scene, my experiences there were frustrating. Even when I drank I found communicating in bars difficult; in sobriety I found it agitating. But Sydney is a scene city, and the scene remained the obvious venue for seeking some sort of connection.
But what sort of connection did I seek? As I walked down Oxford Street tonight, I was--for a moment--saddened that there were very few people I would seek out on an evening like this.
This is of my own making, and it’s the reality of being a partnered 40-something gay man. When I first came to Sydney I kept folks at arm’s length because my tenure here was to be brief. Then, as it turned out, the first wee posse of peeps with whom I connected had their own issues that were coming to a head. One admitted he never pursues friends, so his friends are all pursuers: I’m over that lopsided dynamic, and his comments were more observation than a starting off point for seeking change. Another moved overseas, though he and I shared an affinity for the other guys but not for each other. And the last fella was apparently not quite treading water very well...and struggled. And periodically disappeared. And, eventually, left town under a cloudy of innuendo. And I had met
querrelle. It’s very hard to balance between friends and a new partner. With no genuine friendships on the go here, it was very easy to collapse my social desires into my time with him. When I moved back to Oz, I had to re-examine this arm’s length strategy and, to some extent, jettisoned it. I got involved in Bears more. I reached out to a few folks (Marko, Pól, Ian J) successfully. I started a new job and hoped for some potential friendships there (d’oh!). And before I knew it, we were talking about when we’d be moving to Canada. In a very real sense I never had more than 1.5 feet in Australia.
I retraced my steps, back to the bike. And as I got out my helmet and gloves and loaded my purchases into the boot, I smiled. Because I’d be home to
querrelle in about 6 minutes. And home in about 12 days. Where I might well choose to walk the street alone rather then seek companionship. Though it’s always there, nearby, when I avail myself of it.
