For What It's Worth

Today I sat looking at my doctor as he showed me the images of my left ankle. "Your decades of dance have taken their toll on your body," he said showing me an x-ray. "I am surprised that only your left is giving you trouble."

I sat quietly taking it all in. I thought of the accolades over the years and wondered if it was worth it: 1973 World Champion Scottish Highland Dancer; corps, then soloist, and principal with Ballet West and Pacific Northwest Ballet; successful choreographer; movement instructor; modern dancer; movement artist. I had destroyed my joints over the decades, pushing my body to the limit and then beyond.

I am a man who never backs down from a challenge. Being a masochist I have a huge pain threshold. This year, I have endured months and months of pain, refusing to acknowledge that I needed medical attention.

I thought of the 1000's of people who have applauded me over the decades. And the reviews of critics who celebrated my work. I never faced a bad review, either for my interpretations as a performance artist or a choreographer. Was it worth it?

The doctor explained possible limitations in the future. He recommended that I avoid running and jumping, putting undue stress on the joints. "The time has come to face the music," he said.

I thought of the many people who paid to see me perform, fans that even now recognize me on the streets of Seattle. And then I thought of those people who stand beside me today, supportive and concerned: my partner, my boys, my slave, and a few friends.

Was it worth pushing my body beyond its physical capabilities? This question remains with me as I write this entry.

In Leather we often push ourselves beyond our limits. And all too often we do things for the accolades of others. We want to be accepted, to be acknowledged, to be celebrated as a traditional, "Old Guard" Leatherman, a serious member of the Community. When all is said and done, we must face the music. We must ask ourselves, "Was it worth it?"

I have no regrets. My performance career included Highland Dancing, ballet, modern dance, musical theatre, avante garde performance, and even Leather events. I followed my heart and never held anything back. In spite of the recent diagnosis, I love the experiences that make up my life.

And it has been worth it because I have followed my heart. I have not done things for the applause, for the accolades. The impetus has always come from the inside, from within.

To invoke the Bard once again, "To thine own self be true." This saying hangs upon one of the walls of my home. And it is tattooed around the neck of my partner. The key to a happy life.

I'm Not a Title Holder Type!

After the excitement of Dore Alley and a few nights of good, sound sleep, I have started to digest the results of last weekend’s contest. International LeatherSIR 2010.

For twenty years I have avoided titles. I felt that I could contribute to my community better if I stayed behind the scenes. I reasoned that I was already a leader in my local community, and I was respected as a Sir. I was a player who mentored others in the Tribe. Why did I need a title?

After undergoing the refiner’s fire of this weekend’s contest, I understand. The process of running for a title pushes one beyond comfortable limits. In particular, the International LeatherSIR/boy/Community Bootblack contest is a crucible in which contestants are put to the test over a period of three days. It is a scene that begins on Thursday and ends on Saturday night.

The first day begins slowly, with closed meetings for contestants, producers, and judges. This year the day ended with a Meet and Greet at Mr. S. Leathers and a subsequent welcome at Chaps II. The second day focused more on the head space of the contestants. Interviews, speeches, and a jock strap portion that should be thought of as an exercise in improvisation more than a pose down. The third and final day turned to actual play, with demonstrations and fantasies.

As I stood beside my brothers on the stage Saturday night, I felt proud to be counted as one of them. Also leaders in their respective regions, I felt kinship for having undergone the weekend journey together. I listened as my name was called out and stood in disbelief for a second. I looked down the row on stage, brothers together. All outstanding men. And I stood still for a moment in disbelief.

“How could I have won?” I thought. “I’m not a titleholder type.”

I reflect over the last two decades and realize that there are many types of men that have held titles. I think of Brian Dawson, the International Mr. Drummer the year I inched my way into the community. I reflect on Woody Bebout, a judge this past weekend. I think of the most recent LeatherSIRs. All very different men who have one thing in common. They served their community well during their title years.

I feel honored to add my name to the list of International Drummers and International LeatherSIRs, a line that goes back to 1979. And I look forward to representing the P/players’ community through service.