changing your name is hard

Everything about changing your name is hard.  It's emotionally hard, letting go of an old name and taking a new one, which means a little bit of letting go of an old identity and taking a new one.  It's physically hard, especially if you have to get discriminated against in the process.  But it's also just logistically hard -- sometimes even impossible. 

There's the social security card, then the passport, and the diver's license, and work, and the bank, etc.  But yesterday I encountered a particularly surprising difficulty when I tried to change the email address associated with the blog.  Not being Erin R. anymore, I tried to switch my log-in credentials over to my shiny new Erin H. email address.... only to discover that it was impossible.  You just can't do it.  So, through several backbends and contortions and a lot of signing out and back in, I finally managed to add my new email, even if the old one is still lingering, attached to the account.  Which hits on one of the weird things about changing your name.

In a lot of ways, you become a whole new person, with all your history wiped out.  I don't have my email history, I don't have any history on blogger (although you can see from my profile that I reserved my new email address shortly after getting engaged, way back in February).  In almost every way, it seems like Erin R. has to get erased for Erin H. to spring into existance.

And so.  If there is a bit of funkiness during the transition, where I appear to be two different people at the same time, rest assured it is not just you.  I actually am two different people at the same time. 

(Erin R.)

(Erin H.)

in which we are Discriminated against

Well now, it has been a while since I've written.  We are married, in the state of New York, anyway.  Today, we went to the Social Security Administration to officially change our names and become the Mrs. Hs.  I will spare you the gory details (although I am not sparing the Social Security Administration complaint box or the poor soul who reads the email directed to our beloved President), but suffice it to say that I have not been treated with such indignity in a long while.

a good start

I suppose I would be remiss in my duties as a gay-engaged blogger if I didn't write something about Obama's historic announcement this week in support of marriage equality.  But honestly, I have trouble viewing the statement as any real progress.

I'm glad he finally made this announcement, and I suppose it is "historic" as he's the first President to openly support same-sex marriage.

And yet, as one of my friends pointed out, it gets us no closer to slashing the number of federal rights that Kathy and I are denied, even though we can get married in our home state of New York.  And it does nothing for friends in school without health insurance because their working spouse isn't permitted to cover them.  It does nothing for friends scraping by financially because they've had to devote their resources to paying legal fees to have documents drafted so that their "registered domestic partnership" isn't rendered null and void when they cross state lines.  An endorsement without an action plan feels a little hollow. 

the name

This is always a controversial topic, and so for a while I have avoided writing about it.  But as my wedding draws closer (less than 6 months!) it occupies increasing brain-space.  This is a topic that everyone has their own opinion about, and I think we can all agree that each woman's (person's?) decision is made for deeply personal reasons.  But.  That does not stop us from judging each other about it. 

I am talking, of course, about changing your name when you get married.

The first time I got married, I did not change my name.  At the time I thought it was because I had a firm sense of my identity, and that included my last name.  Now, I am thinking maybe it was, a bit, that I did not have a firm sense of my identity, and that hanging onto my name gave me some much-needed stability.  Or, maybe my decision not to change my name reflected some deep ambivalence about marriage, or that particular marriage, that I was not prepared to acknowledge explicitly at the time.  I don't know what the "real" reason is, I only know that changing my name was not even really an option for me.

death of a single girl

Kathy has been in London all this week.  I hate it when she's gone.  A weird thing that I think often, when she travels, is "If Kathy died, this grey, bleak, horribleness would be my life."  I can be a little morbid, I guess.  This trip, this feeling was particularly acute.  Maybe it is because I finished a really, really depressing book yesterday in which one character's onion farm fails and his wife leaves him, so he tries to kill himself but instead shoots himself in the shoulder and loses the arm, and another character drunkenly drives his car off a bridge at 8:30 in the morning after losing his business, having his house repossessed by the bank, and his lover (the wife of the onion farm guy) breaking up with him.

I don't think it's just the book, though.  As I was walking into work today, thinking about how it Kathy died, the grey, bleak, horribleness would be my life, I also thought, "Well, I didn't use to feel like this about her not being around.  I used to live semi-alone in that apartment in Hell's Kitchen, and be totally fine with being alone, or whatever.  I never used to get all sad and bored and lonely.  What's up with that?"  I feared I had become too dependent, or at least that I had lost a vital, independent part of myself. 

As an erstwhile fiercely independent thing, living in New York City, I used to find the solitude liberating.  But now, instead of feeling liberated, I just feel sort of lonely.  This made me incredibly sad.  I liked that independent young woman, living in Manhattan, struggling with her job, making it through.  Where did she go, and when did it happen? 

on marriage

Almost a year ago, I wrote about my divorce.  In that post, I said that my divorce shaped my thinking on marriage.  In other posts, I've referenced the fact that Kathy and I are not married, and that one reason for this is that she is presently engaged in what very well may be the most drawn out divorce in history.  It has literally been going on for years.  And so, I find that it's not just my divorce that has shaped my thinking on marriage -- it's also hers. 

So, what does it mean to have a view of marriage that is shaped by divorce?  For one thing, I am under no illusions that divorce is the quick or easy out for a marriage that doesn't work.  When you don't have kids, divorce scrapes you so emotionally raw that it can take years to recover.  When you do have kids, it's not just you that is scraped raw -- it's also the small beings entrusted to your care.  Not to mention the fact that almost everyone I know who has gone through a messy divorce has emerged with no savings.  None.  Divorce is a lot of things.  But "quick" and "easy" it is not.

Although these experiences with divorce might have made me bitter, jaded, or cynical about marriage, nothing could be further from the truth.  I am a romantic, underneath it all.  As Kathy's divorce slowly draws to a close, there are some marriage-minded people in my life (and in my house).  So, I've decided to take this opportunity to think about my definition of marriage, and why I would want to give it another try. 

One caveat, though:  this is what marriage means to me.  It probably isn't the same as what marriage is to you.  In fact, I would be kind of freaked out if there is someone out there with the exact same definition of marriage. 

warm feelings

 I've always been an introspective person, but in the last year or so, I feel as if the question of what I want my life to be has been more all-consuming than is typical, even for me. The reason, I have come to understand, is sitting across the room from me now, frowning and scribbling something on her time diaries.

A few days ago (I'm a bit behind on my google reader), I read this post about getting married young. Toward the end, Robin, the author, says of being married young, "You hear people talk about 50% divorce rates and how those rates are even higher for people who get married young... [But] What about those people who focus on making themselves better as individuals because the biggest question mark in their life is already answered?"

Today, when I read a quote in which a woman said, "I remember the warm feeling of relief of knowing where my future was," I recalled what Robin said and it clicked into place.* 

ghosts

This weekend, my computer crashed.  Because of how I downloaded a virus onto it trying to watch a Scottish lesbian BBC series.  Yeah, I know.  So embarrassing.  Of course it crashed exactly when I was sitting down to work, so I used the desktop while distractedly clicking at my laptop trying to get it to work.  I'm not horrible with computers, but I'm not great, either.  It got itself all into a tangle and now Windows won't start.  Sigh.  This is why people use Macs, I suppose.  Or at least don't use Internet Explorer.  Anyway, this crashing was the genesis of a larger feeling of uneasiness when I realized that there was something completely irreplaceable and of indeterminate value on the hard drive.  My wedding pictures.

Yes, I was married before.  It's something no one knows how to talk about with me.  Whenever I mention my ex-wife, people try to change the subject or talk about her like she was my best friend who moved away or something.  The thing is, no one knows what to do with someone who is 29 years old and divorced.  But if you think that's bad, try being 29 years old and GAY divorced.  If same-sex marriage is a taboo topic, try same-sex divorce.  So far I have met one person in my entire life who can talk about same-sex divorce comfortably.  And she's a divorce attorney.

Photo Credit.

watching tv

(And speaking of rotting your brain.  Or at least, having weird effects on it.  Photo from here.)

Kathy has often told me she has a fantasy life.  It involves the great American pastime -- no, not baseball.  Watching TV.  I've always resisted this.  I would rather watch a movie than TV, and I'd rather read than do either.  I hate commercials, it rots your brain, etc.  I've "compromised," and agreed to watch the occasional HBO series.  Or Showtime series.  But in general, no.  We both work long hours.  We live with 3 kids and 1 cat.  We have a house (although not an apartment).  We almost never have time to read or watch a movie, let alone watch network TV. 

But tonight, right now, in fact, we are living this dream life.  We're sitting here, watching TV, like an old married couple.  And she's right, it is actually kind of nice.

worth waiting for (?)

Kathy and I are not engaged.  This does not stop me from thinking about getting married to her all the time.  Some of my friends are rather impatient for us to get married.  One threatened to show up at our house with my sister in matching dresses if we didn't get a move on in some reasonable amount of time.  Their impatience does not even come close to matching my own.  There are a bunch of reasons, which I won't go into here, why we are not engaged yet.  They are all annoying.  However, there is one thing that I think might actually be worth waiting for.

(On wedding cake toppers.  I don't think anyone actually uses them anymore, other than as an illustration in a post or article about same sex marriage.  For real.  Also, if you google image search for wedding cake toppers, there are an appalling number where a bride is dragging a groom off.  But that is another post entirely.  I found this picture here.)