By John Corvino, columnist, 365gay.com
09.25.2009 9:25am EDT
One of the best bits of advice I ever received while coming out was from a nun.
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That’s right—a Catholic nun. Not even a lesbian nun, as far as I can gather. Sr. Julie was one of my theology professors in college, and she was one of the first people I confided in after busting open the closet door.
She had the sort of reassuring demeanor that inspired confidence, in both senses of that term: I shared secrets with her, and her support emboldened me. Looking back, I suspect that some of my candor was excessive, but Julie never let on if it bothered her.
The advice in question regarded a crush I had on a straight neighbor named Neil. I had a penchant for crushes on straight guys then—probably because I knew so few gay ones.
Hoping to see more of him, I would ride my bicycle repeatedly up and down his street so that I might “accidentally” catch him venturing outside to fetch the mail.
I would write about him in my journal at night, and my heart would leap every time he would call—which was never often enough.
When I did get to spend time with him, I would fret for days beforehand about what to wear, how my hair looked, etc.—things that I knew he never noticed, or cared about.
In short, I was a 20-year-old behaving like a 12-year-old—and a pretty desperate one at that.
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