On Being Useful

Overture

“All I need from you, is that you continue to exist. You are my Seumas. Just keep being my Seumas. That is all I need from you.” Cody leaned back on the other side of the table in the bar with a broad smile and gestured expansively. He looked like a man who had won a fight. He hadn’t, but he had put a chink in a set of armor that I didn’t know I was wearing.

I met this man when he was about nine years old on the day I married his father to one of my best friends; his new step mother. We had barely seen each other again in the intervening two decades until a couple years ago when he reached out. “Your card has stayed with me through three new wallets. That has to mean something. Let’s talk.”

We started to spend time together. It wasn’t instant, but we did find a way past the father’s friend / friend’s kid framework and grew comfortable with each other as peers. Over many evenings of food, drinks, and intense conversation we grew close.

Act I: But the story begins before that, of course

Like most of us, I went to public school. In 1980s small town Washington that meant graduating from a high school with only about 800 students in total, and there wasn’t a great deal of diversity. I had a few close friends, but was never well liked and never felt a part of anything other than my own small group.

We were all into the paranormal, and eventually started a coven together. I had a leg up because I already knew a bit about the subject since I had started studying Witchcraft when I was nine. We called ourselves Shadowood Coven, and within our circle of both friendship and magic, I felt safe for the first time.

I also started studying the harp in high school, which became as central to my identity as being a Witch. It added a new dimension to my life which connected me to the world-wide network of harp players, but further isolated me from most people. In the harp world I could be special.

After graduation, I went to college for music. Not to a big mainstream college, mind you. Nor to one that had an established harp program that could mould me into a working musician. No, I went to the hippie school where I designed my own program. Even at Cornish College of the Arts, I was alone, being the only harp student. At least, however, I was among fellow musicians.


After getting my degree, I still lacked the courage to try to make my living with music. I went to work in student lending instead. I had been helped to get Summer jobs there by a commuter buddy I met riding the Washington State Ferries named Kris Abbott. It was the path of least resistance at the time, so I took it. I was unbearably awkward and made cringeworthy gaffs regularly. By the time I left that field I had a few friends, but I mostly found I had to keep all my true interests to myself.

Meanwhile, outside of work, our coven continued to meet, and it was truly what sustained me. I made a reasonably good set of connections in the local Pagan community, and served in volunteer roles. Along with that status among the local Pagans however, came drama and I made my exit.

My career as a harp player stumbled along without much effort from me. I wound up helping to found an Irish / Scottish traditional band called Wicked Celts, and that became the centre of my social identity for many years. I became a more accomplished player, which gave me a higher status with my bandmates and others in the ‘Celtic’ music community. (I hate that term)

In 1994 I started studying the Scottish Gaelic language as the next logical step in deepening my expertise in the music. My class of six people were chugging along just fine when the films Rob Roy and Braveheart happened. Suddenly our teacher had huge classes and we started organizing weekend intensives. I found many, many ways to make myself useful for the next 18+ years.

photo: michael sean morris

During that time, because of Gaelic and our society’s relationship with our sister group in Vancouver BC, I met the love of my life, Doug Barr. We have been together for 19 years now, with all the usual ups and downs. We often joke about not knowing why the other stays, but there is a grain of truth that makes the joke funny. In the early years of our time together, I was working very hard to be useful. It was what I knew how to do, having never been in a relationship before. I can’t recall when it was exactly that I stopped being afraid that he would give me the boot, but I did eventually. I had never felt as safe in any relationship of any kind in my life.

And now, Act II

The condo I live in had to have a massive remediation project done in 2015 which meant that our building was wrapped in plastic for most of the summer, and it was a hot one.

I have never been comfortable being alone in public. Somewhere deep inside I have always felt that when I walk into a place everyone there wishes I hadn’t. I know it doesn’t make much sense.

I had gone into one of our local bars, Teachers Lounge, once or twice and pulled my usual move of tucking myself back into a corner and trying to be inconspicuous. This bar, however, had air conditioning, so in desperation to escape the plastic wrapped building I overcame my social anxiety and started to go pretty often.

After a couple of weeks of dropping by regularly, Desiree the co-owner and I had chatted several times. She is a disarmingly beautiful woman with a razor sharp wit and a tolerance for bullshit that starts at zero and goes down from there. She is, therefore a woman perfectly suited to steal my tiny cold gay heart.

I have known many people who work in hospitality and the stories about patrons who interpret friendliness to be friendship are the worst. I understand my job in an establishment: 1) make up my mind 2) order off the menu 3) say thank you often 4) be patient 5) tip well. That code of behaviour has almost always gotten me excellent experiences, but I never interpret that as meaning anything other than I’m good at being a patron.

I had no reason to think that my experiences at Teachers Lounge were going to be any different, but then the most surprising thing happened. Desiree invited me to join the party at the bar instead of hiding back at a table. I don’t know why, but I said yes. I had never actually sat at a bar before, much less chatted with total strangers. I discovered I was less awkward and less uncomfortable than I had been when I was younger.

I started sitting at the bar regularly and meeting other patrons. Over time, very amicable casual friendships started to happen. Some of them have grown far beyond that. It takes a true friend to climb in a taxi with you and head to the bad part of Las Vegas looking for your stolen purse.

Then, growing more brave, I became a patron at another of my local bars. I connected with both staff and other frequent customers. I even played harp and the wedding of two staff members.

Act III Where I Try to Self-sabotage

I am a fearful person by nature. When something good happens, I start looking for the problem that is going to wreck it all. My inner demons were more than up to the task this time. A question started to form in the back of my mind as I continued to enjoy spending time with my new neighborhood friends. Why are these people interested in talking to me? They’re not into anything I am. I’m not an expert in anything they want to learn. They don’t need any of my professional skills. There has to be some mistake.

Winners get pictures

Then, in one of our continuing conversations, Cody said:

“Those of us who grew up without much sense of self worth often settle for being useful instead of loved. Please believe me. I do not need anything from you. I just love you and if you want anything in our friendship, you can ask for it.”

He won the fight. I was shaken and my armor was in pieces on the ground.

I saw clearly that I had been doing exactly that since childhood in most circumstances. I found ways to be useful because I wasn’t sure if I was much more than that. I can see now that it was never true, or at least not as true as I thought. I have had friends without many common interests before and Doug has stayed with me even when I was very needy. I suppose I have unconsciously processed those realities as flukes, but I can’t anymore. The preponderance of the evidence shows that some people actually just like me for no apparent reason.

Paying for friendship with labor was how I lived in the world and I had not seen it. That is, until a certain Canadian stuck with me for nearly two decades. Until a young woman running a bar in my neighborhood took a chance, and invited me to come closer. Until the man I met when he was a boy told me it was OK to ask him for things in our friendship.

I must be more than useful.