OR Growing Pains Aren’t Sexy
“You truly serve as an inspiration to younger leather enthusiasts who may feel too young to hold a title! Your example demonstrates that age is not a barrier, empowering them to pursue their dreams.”
This was a quote from a close friend of mine. It’s incredibly flattering from a Leatherman of his caliber. Yet, despite knowing full well that I should believe every single word, I… don’t.
I just don’t see it.
It’s this quote that I feel best sums up the complicated relationship I have with my “presence” as a titleholder. Sure, there is no denying that I am on that stage at IML 46, I have pictures and the damn medallion to prove it. And yet what dominoes have been toppled since I took those steps onto that stage? Who am I really empowering here? It’s not a victory lap, more a single brick and what feels like a thin veneer of mortar. I still think that I have much more to go before I can really settle with such potent verbiage.
I just feel so unworthy of this gravitas. Hell at times it doesn’t feel like blindness but outright denial. It’s all birdsong to me now, undeniably sweet to the ear but nonetheless it’s simply become noise in the absence of material circumstances that have come as a result of whatever positive qualities those that care about me can scrounge up. Even with the friends I’ve made, the places I’ve gone, why don’t I feel all too different in the grand scheme of things? I think part of it is I’m worried that I didn’t really sow anything that could be reaped, you know? That I was “just there,” my words were just chirps backed up with not enough action to create a shift.
I don’t know what the future holds for me. I would love another shot at that stage, there’s something so electrifying about putting yourself out there in that way that I enjoy. I love talking about the places I’ve been, the incredible people I’ve met and hope to uplift, and what I’ve learned in such a short amount of time. And while I’ve been asked if I was interested in competing for a different title in just a few months, that question of “readiness” comes again. In spite of the contest requirements being much more substantial than I’m used to, I’m not sweating over those, at least enough to dissuade me. But truthfully maybe those that told me to take pause were right. But the problem is what does “paying one’s dues” even look like? What’s the fundraising threshold, the number of classes taught, volunteer hours logged, club minutes with your name attached that makes one “worthy?” Perhaps other young people that are currently entertaining the possibility of chasing that dream are asking the exact same question. But there’s no concrete answer, is there?
I want to focus on a snippet from a prior quote, this one in particular:
“I would advise anyone seeking a title to take the time to learn who you are as a BDSM player/activist/contributor long before running for a title.”
And truthfully, I feel I have a solid grasp of who I am. I want to know whose shoulders I stand upon, where I came from, and use that knowledge to carry the torch for I will be in their position someday, in the bar, in the dungeon, everywhere. I don’t arrange events, my jocks are auction bargains, and I don’t exactly have folks clamoring for my insights at the judging table or in the education room. And those things all take time, I know, and it involves networking, knowing people, and constantly putting yourself out there.
The word “legacy” has been on my mind constantly for years, partially due to it being used as a sword of Damocles in order to keep me in line but that’s trauma for another time. Although because of that, it’s a bit of a dirty word for me, something I’m always cognizant of as I reflect on my journey thus far: what will I leave behind? Is it too early to be asking these questions considering I’ve yet to reach my three-year cherry-popping anniversary? Perhaps.
As I lay in my hotel bed that night,knowing full well I could not be out in my current state, I pondered. A class sibling laid next to me as we processed, batting my phone away to thwart my attempts at doom scrolling and digging a deeper mental hole for myself. I discussed the Monomyth, and how I thought I would be crossing back over the threshold to the land of the familiar on the way home from Chicago. But what would I be bringing back, my so-called “Gift of the Goddess,” the elixir I would be wielding upon my return. But he said something to me that I ended up carrying home instead:
“This isn’t the return threshold, this is just the first test.”
And he’s right, isn’t he? I’m a 25 year old in a sea of men who have been part of the scene for longer than I’ve been alive, be it mentors, idols, the men who I admired from afar for years and aspired to be like. I have decades of Leather life ahead of me. And I know some of it will hurt, and not in the hot way. Growing pains aren’t sexy, but they’re necessary pains.
I’m an impatient kid in a world filled with excellence. Yes, we’re all still people but it’s undeniably intimidating being surrounded by legacies far more pronounced and present while my dough is just starting to rise. The rapid oscillations between being viewed one way and treated another gives me vertigo. I don’t know, maybe I’ll get it when I’m older.
But none of this matters now, I have a sash son to find, and then it’s back to work. And whatever that looks like, I hope I continue to make you all proud.
I love you all.
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