Fours are emotional creatures. We feel things. We feel things deeply and often. A leaky faucet doesn't do the metaphor justice; my heart feels more like a fire hydrant turned loose on a city street. Handling the hydrant has challenged me my whole life, but especially these last few years. I've seen some success. And I also recognize how much room I have yet to grow.
Here's one vocabulary term I've taken away from therapy: euphoric recall. I'd never heard that phrase until last year, and it gives language to this nebulous internal struggle I've faced since my first bout with pornography at 19.
Tom and Alex discuss the qualities they love about being Fours: artistic, empathetic, and yes, unique. In times of security they're objective and productive, taking action and creating things that add beauty to the world. A Four's "superpower" is empathy, giving others permission to "feel all the feels" with them, too. Tom and Alex also dive into their dark side of Four-ness: the neediness, the manipulation, the constant craving for approval, particularly from other men. Fours are often described as people who perceive lacking a critical "missing piece," and as queer or SSA men this hits especially deep for Tom and Alex. In adolescence did they miss some critical component for masculinity or sexuality, along with connecting with the other boys? What is the path forward for a Four in those whirlwinds of emotional stress?
Who was it that said Pride is a celebration of having survived? I can certainly relate to that. I don't know who said it before Ryan did, but I'm processing Pride with new eyes and new appreciation this year, and hopefully for the rest of my life. Recognizing the blessing, even the miracle, that I'm still alive. Indeed, I could have died years ago because of my sexuality.
He's the guy who has clarified my boundaries with cuddling and physical touch more than any other. The guy from whom I've sought comfort in touch more than any other. The guy who has made me feel seen and warm and laugh and cry like no other. He's the first (and to this point, only) guy I've fallen in love with.
Tom welcomes YOBBER Alex to bask in the Hulu show Love, Victor, which follows the events of the movie Love, Simon. Alex shares why he loves this show so much, including the racial dynamic with Victor as a half-Puerto Rican, half-Columbian guy and himself as half-Thai. They also discuss one particular episode of the show that features Simon's LGBT+ community in New York. Couldn't churches learn from how this community values family, showing love to a so-called stranger in Victor? And could there ever be a Side B show like this one where Victor finds a community like YOB??
If we were gonna cuddle safely in the dark, why not just cuddle safely in the light? Open the veil, so to speak? We were lying down next to each other, my head on his chest, or his head on mine, I forget. Everything was quiet. Nobody else was in the room. But it would not stay that way.
I had tasted all these new intense bursts of touch in recent years, perhaps some healthy and others not so much, and during one isolating season I was desperate to share the warmth of masculine flesh again. I was having trouble making friends with other men, though...so where did I turn? To an app.
I was anxious our "vibe" would be too new, too foreign, too strange, and too uncomfortable for too many people. Would the ratio just be off? Would our vibe be off after 27 months apart? Beyond logistics and numbers, I felt anxious about the purpose of this retreat more than either of our previous ones. It all goes back to that nebulous definition of YOB: what are we here for?
Somewhere in the night, the role reversal from cuddling with Brandon completed itself. Lines got blurred and then definitively crossed. It wasn't sexual touch, but it was inappropriate touch. It wasn't welcomed or invited. Brett didn't ask; he just did. He took. Just as I took from Brandon, Brett took from me. And passive, conflict-avoidant me felt crippled to say a word against it.