Needed Yet Never Chosen

The Life Behind the Words

Almost a year ago, I began 2260 Hamilton’s Lore and Shadows with the article: How the Story Begins: From Sacred Symbols to Blood Bonds. I wanted to give my readers a glimpse into what made me who I was.

Over time, I wrote other articles that slowly pulled back the curtain and showed more of what was going on behind the scenes of my writing. In my other articles, we talked about my spiritual progression, which played a big part in my writing. Today, I want to talk about the other parts of my life that made me who I am.

Something struck me this morning as I was cleaning the kitchen after preparing breakfast for my mom. She is going to be 95. We live together, and for me, my day usually revolves around her.

Breakfast at 9:30, clean the kitchen, possibly do some laundry, figure out what I’m going to cook for dinner.
2:00, make and serve lunch, clean the kitchen, begin dinner preparations.
6:30 (after her evening prayers—she says the rosary three times a day), serve dinner, clean the kitchen, retire to my office to try and write or check email or just relax.
9:30, check on her and bring dessert, if she wants it. Say good night, turn off the house lights, and retire for the evening knowing everyone is in bed and safe.

This is my life seven days a week, 365 days a year, punctuated by holidays where I am responsible for planning and cooking every meal and making sure everyone is entertained and fed according to a strict schedule.

I’m not complaining. My mom and I have a special relationship. I’m the classic mama’s boy. She will always come first, no matter what. I always tell her that we are in this together till the wheels fall off.

By 14, I knew I was gay, and by 16, I was involved with a boy who, for the next 11 years, would be the center of my universe, even though I would only be a secret in his.

Being gay in the late 70s and early 80s was frowned upon, so relationships were hidden. Of course, I had the misfortune to fall in love with a bisexual boy. That would be the story of my life for many years to come.

That relationship would end after 11 years, not in drama but in a quiet fading away. He would choose a straight life, and I would be forgotten.

The next several decades for me would lead me to relationships where I would always be the secret, not the choice.

When I started to write, I was in a dark place, or maybe you would call it a valley. I had just turned 60 and was going through a period of introspection. Maybe it was my midlife crisis. If it was, I was overdue.

It was then that I started to revisit my life, choices, mistakes, and sacrifices. In that moment, it would be honest to say, “What was it all for?” To look back with cynicism and regret.

But in that moment, I did what I always do—I pushed through. I began to write.

The goal was to revisit the past, to write out all the moments, tender and painful. The joys and the sorrows, every moment of love hidden in the dark, every subtle brush of fingertips, the hope that no one noticed the hugs that were a second too long to be just friendly.

As I wrote from that place, in the silence and sometimes in the pain of those memories, I thought of relationships that had to remain hidden, where I learned that only when I offered something, did something, or gave something of myself was I actually noticed.

I became the one who always cared, spent money, cooked food, and took care of people, and I was also the one who was always needed, yet never chosen.

That pattern became the focus of my existence. It was the mantra in my head, driving me in my relationships.

If I can do more for him, care for him better, give him the things he needs, maybe then he will see me and choose me.

As I went through life, the relationships I encountered were built on this psychology. It bled into them and showed up as fierce loyalty, even in the face of struggle and crisis.

At one point I had gotten involved with someone who fell into the crack epidemic in the 80s, and even after struggles, robberies, and sometimes going hungry. I stayed, thinking just a little more and he will realize I’m worth loving.

I would repeat this throughout several relationships. It would cost me money, my job, and ultimately my home.

I would survive those mistakes because I had a family that loved me, protected me, and sheltered me. Many times my godfather would say to me, “You have to love yourself first. Every morning, stand in front of the mirror and tell yourself how much you love yourself.”

He would dramatize it, saying that I should kiss myself and hug myself. I would laugh, but the advice was real. He was telling me that I had to learn to choose myself before anyone else could choose me.