fighting.

"People would see a lot of times fighting as an ugly thing, as a thing that denigrates the human being.  In reality, you see fighting is everything...doesn't matter what it is.  You wake up in the morning.  To get out of bed is a fight, believe it.  So fighting is actually the best thing a man can have in his soul."  --Renzo Gracie, Retired Mixed Martial Arts Fighter and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Black Belt

It was December 8, 2012.  The lights were low and the energy in the building was more electric than a mid-summer thunderstorm.  I had never experienced a live Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) event.  One of my dearest friends and roommate at the time has appreciated it for many years.  He always made it a habit to seek out the best promotion in his local area.  Enter StrikeHard Productions.  I offered to help put together an after party for the first StrikeHard event in Birmingham.  In all honesty, I was not sure what to expect.  People tend to have a perception of fighters and the sport of MMA that sometimes is not very flattering.  That night and moving forward, I began a new journey, and found something very special in the MMA community surrounding StrikeHard.

There was something different about the people residing in this corner of life.  As I became more involved with StrikeHard, I would quickly realize the disparity between perception and reality was vast and tragic.  I would learn that these people and this environment were very different and very authentic.  Naturally, through working at events and visiting gyms, I began to meet more of these fighters and coaches.  I now found myself on the inside of this amazing community.  With many I became friends, and with many it felt more like family.  I began to see within so many of them, a work ethic that was second to none.  Many of these athletes were training some 30 hours a week, all the while maintaining full-time jobs and taking care of families.  I found humility within some of them that the Pope would envy.  They seemed to have an uncanny understanding of their place and their role in the world.  Above all these things, I found heart.  I am referring to the heart that allows one to step into a cage with the door locked from the outside, and drives them to compete physically with the highly skilled athlete standing across that very cage.  The reality is simple; one of these two will lose.  I am referring to the heart that will not allow that athlete to quit after a loss, but compel him to train harder and step in that cage once more.  This is what I found in these men and women.  Though many of them do not realize, this is the heart that inspired me to begin living my life in a way that was more authentic and not back down to the pressure of who dominant culture believes I should be.

After making the decision to come out, I grew comfortable in my skin somewhat quickly.  However, still lingering in the back of my mind was a daunting question:  "How would this new community, which I had come to appreciate and love, respond to my sexuality?"  It was the last remaining group in my life whose thoughts and perceptions were of concern to me.  It was all so new, and the last thing I wanted to do was ever make any of them uncomfortable.  Could it be that I might lose this very group that had inspired me to live a life without the fears that I had been fighting for so long.  Ultimately, I reminded myself of the need to be 100% authentic with everyone in my life.  It was never my goal to intentionally bring it to their attention.  I, however, had resolved that I would never hide or be ashamed of how I was created.  After all, they taught me these very lessons.  Throughout the process, I have gotten the answer to my question, even as recent as three weeks ago.

I began a very simple conversation with one of our athletes over Facebook about a play that was made in that night's baseball game.  This simple "throw away" conversation suddenly became something very different, and having already gotten his permission, I would like to share it with you.  

"Lance, I read your blog every time you post it.  I had the typical southern redneck views before, and I will be honest with you.  The first time I started reading it, I wrote you off (I apologize for that), but after discussing it with Ashley (his girlfriend), she convinced me to read it and have an open mind.  I can't really say I agree with it 100%, but buddy you have my FULL SUPPORT and I applaud you for what you are doing.  The more I read, the more I look up to you for living your life the way you think it is meant to be lived.  I don't judge and it has helped me have a more open mind about homosexuality."

There was something Seth Burgett did not know that night, as he randomly felt inspired to share this message.  I was seriously debating on whether or not I would continue posting to IMOS.  I have never desired to be noise in a conversation, that to many is already blaring like a bad death metal concert.  My hope is to be a voice that brings new light to many who have struggles similar to the ones I endured, as well as to those that simply do not understand or agree with homosexuality.  That night, I was humbled to realize something very special to me personally. I was able to cut through the typical "southern redneck views" and begin to change the heart and mind of at least one.  IMOS came so close to tapping out, but when you have a great guy in your corner like Seth Burgett, you can't help but keep fighting.  Until next time...

I would like to thank Ashley Nash for seeing the heart of IMOS and challenging Seth to continue reading.  I can write all I want, but without people like you believing in the blog, we may have never had this conversation.  Also, thanks to the owner's of StrikeHard who have been 100% supportive from day one.  People, believe me when I say this; these are great men with great integrity.  Finally, thank you to the MMA community that has embraced and respected me and allowed me to be a part of your family.  A blog post could never fully express how much your dedication to a great sport has made me who I am today.

Family: Part 3

"Without a family, man alone in the world, trembles with the cold."  --Andre Maurois, French Author

This is the final post in the three-part series on family.  I was created the youngest of four boys.  The oldest is Marc, next is Brian, and finally Steven.  Steven is the youngest and he is seven years older than me.  As a small child, I felt very protected by them.  As we all grew older though, something began to change.  Suddenly, I found myself the only one still living at home, sometimes.  This post is meant to highlight the life I had as that youngest of four, and recognize how much better a family we can always be toward each other.

It was a gold and white afghan that my mom crocheted.  I'm not sure, as she constantly worked those needles, that she had planned for this afghan to be used for these purposes, but having had four boys, I think she knew anything was possible.  Anytime, my mom left all us boys at home alone, we always played this great game.  We never named it.  And for some reason, I was always happy to play it.  We would turn off all lights in the house.  I would sit and wait anxiously as my brothers prepared the afghan in the other room, laying it out so perfectly in the floor.  Each would grab a corner and one would grab two.  At the moment that all necessary preparations had been made, I being so young, became thrilled when I would hear them yell, "We're ready!"  I found so much joy in starting my sprint through the den, into the kitchen and entry way and finally into the dark living room.  At the precise moment my feet hit the center of the worn afghan, my brothers would jerk the afghan up and roll me into a ball.  Sometimes, they would just pull it out from under me.  Amazingly enough, I always remember getting up and insisting we go another round!  These are some of the fondest memories I had of my brothers, until June of 2013.

"Family Day" had already begun with my mom, and now it was time to begin the difficult conversations with my brothers.  Marc, was at work, and I remember asking him if he had a few minutes to talk.  Of all my brothers, Marc has always come across as the most intimidating to me.  Though he always took great care of me as a child, as we grew older, time, distance, and differences in opinion began to separate us.  Marc served in the US Navy for ten years.  I thank him for that service, because he chose to defend his country in a way I never would.  This provided Marc the opportunity to see things in a very different light than his young, somewhat naive, youth pastor brother did.  We all inherited the need to be right and so many arguments developed that in all reality, my legalistic Christian worldview created (I still consider myself a Christian, but legalism is certainly not my mantra).  I always remember Marc as a man's man.  Very masculine and very tough.  As I began to share with Marc the script that I had nearly gotten down pat, I remember my heart racing more than it had with anyone else.  As my one-sided script turned into conversation, you could feel the tension somewhat subside. While Marc has always come across as the tough brother, I began to realize the reason he was so tough on me.  One thing you can always count on with Marc is that he is authentic.  He says what he believes and he is who he is.  He does not allow a lot of space in his life for people and things which are not true.  Marc had known all along, and I believe all Marc ever wanted me to be was true.  Marc and his wife Chasity are always so welcoming of me in their home when I am putting together a StrikeHard event in Montgomery, and without them we may not even be in that market.  Thank you.

Brian was always the gracious and loving brother.  He's the non-conflict guy.  He realistically was the brother that I was least concerned about telling of my homosexuality.  Brian has always shown a great amount of care for me, and there are very few times in my life that I remember parting ways with him without a hug and an "I love you."  As I think back, I can't even think of any substantial arguments or conflicts that we have ever even had.  My fondest memories of Brian were always when he would drive me to McGill-Toolen High School in the ninth grade because I didn't want to take the bus.  He had the best truck that he had totally customized and I always felt on a different level riding in the passenger seat of that truck.  As I told Brian, it was exactly as I suspected.  He was full of love and pride for his younger brother finally being able to live an authentic life.

Steven.  Well let's just say that Steven and I never really got along too great.  Look, I can't help that I came along and he was no longer the baby.  The interesting thing is, as I think back to my childhood and even early adult life, my memories of Steven are not really negative or positive.  They just are.  He had his own trials and tribulations, but there was never any sort of deep connection or relationship between the two of us.  As Steven went through some tough times in life we were able to bond a little bit through our faith, but overall, eh.  As I told Steven that June morning,  I'll never forget his words.  "It's about damn time, little brother!"  Totally Steven.  We now have grown extremely close, speaking often and he has been such a huge help to StrikeHard Productions at the last 6 MMA events we have produced.  We have gone from having mediocre memories to having memories that will forever stick inside our hearts.  I know that I can tell Steven anything, although I don't totally trust his judgement yet on trying to set me up with someone.  Maybe one day Steven.

I realize now that every one of my brothers knew my identity better than I did my own.  The canyon that had developed between us over the years had very little to do with age difference but more to do with my own insecurities.  I am relieved that for once, we can all be a family that knows, loves and respects each other.  This is something that has come with age, maturity and authenticity.  I never could imagine the day that all of us lived in peace with each other and supported each other in each endeavor the other takes on.  I'm proud that I have such an eclectic group of brothers that have different personalities and traits.  Every one of them has taught me something in my life.  Marc has taught me to stand up and be a man.  To handle my business and not rely on others to do it for me.  Brian has taught me that no matter how tough life can be to keep moving forward with a positive attitude and care for others.  Steven has taught me to celebrate. To embrace who I am and to love deeply.  The other day as I left my father's he turned around and made a simple statement that struck me.  Y'all stick together...the four of you.  None of us are perfect and we may never be the best brothers, but these are MY brothers.  This is MY family.   I could not imagine walking this road with brothers any different and I know that I will never be a man alone in this world because of them.    We will Dad.  Until next time...

Marc, Brian and Steven:

I want to thank you for all you have meant to me over the last few months of this journey we call life.  I want to congratulate you on raising great children.  It is my hope that as they grow older, that we also continue to grow in our relationships with one another. You will never know, nor could a blog post express how much each of you have meant and will continue to mean to my life.  Now, I will stop because Marc hates the sappy sh*t.  Love y'all.

Family: Part 2

"My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could ever give to another person.  He believed in me."  --Jim Valvano, Basketball coach and Broadcaster

As I continue this three week post on my family and how they have influenced my life, I will be focusing this week on the relationship with my father.  It has been a relationship of ups and downs, and ultimately it is a positive story.  I am seeking to be transparent about gritty realities of the relationship as well as the shine that reflects from it now.  My parents divorced when I was around 2 years old, and  I never felt a strong connection to my father.  Though he performed some of his typical fatherly duties, I often felt he was absent from my life, and I often felt it was by choice, even though it may not have always been.  Please know that I took the time to write this post early so that it could be reviewed and approved by my dad, so anything you read here, he has already read. I will also say that any stories of long ago are meant to paint a picture of the journey and are not meant to reflect who my dad is today.

In all of our lives, we have those moments.  The ones you can never forget.  I call them life-defining moments, because if they were important enough for you to remember, then they are important enough to shape who you are as a person.  They stick with you like humidity on an August day in Alabama.  One of mine came on a beautiful afternoon, riding back from Gulfport, Mississippi with my dad.  I was young.  I'm not totally sure of my age, but I would guess around twelve.  I had lived long enough to develop a love for country music.  We were munching Rold Gold pretzels that my dad had always kept stashed in the center console of his Chevy Silverado, and listening to the radio.  As we were coming across the Gulfport bridge, the sun was reflecting off the water in that way you get used to living on the Gulf Coast.  I began to sing along with a song that I liked.  I don't remember my dad's exact words, but I remember him making fun of my singing.  In reality it was probably in jest.  Either way, I remember taking it personally.

As I look back now, I realize that moment was one of many that I allowed to give me a constant feeling of never being good enough for my dad.  I don't believe my dad ever intentionally made me feel of a lesser value.  The reality is, you and I have probably both unintentionally made someone else in our lives feel the same way.  About three years ago, I stopped talking to my dad.  Just before I moved up to Montana to live with the Northern Cheyenne, a conversation had occurred that I felt reinforced this feeling of inadequacy, and I felt the best thing to do was to just put an end to the relationship.  For three years, I had nothing to do with my dad, and sent him an e-mail telling him that was my desire.  My dad respected that wish.

Exactly three years to the day, without even realizing it at the time, I felt something within me say "It's time to call your dad."  I was parked outside the UPS Store at exit 6 off I-459.  With much anxiety, my dad and I began our first conversation in those three years.  It was not an easy dialogue.  It was one of anger, sorrow, remorse, confusion, anxiety, and numerous other feelings words just do not give life to. It was also within this conversation that I told my dad that I was gay.  Slowly the conversation changed to one of apologies, love and hope for a new day.  While I hate we had to lose those three years, I also look back and realize that they were necessary.  I will embrace some fault for the unhealthy relationship that I have had with my father and many others.  You see, for me to ever have an authentic relationship with my dad, I had to be authentic to myself.  It's hard to have any type of life-enriching relationship when you are constantly hiding and pushing people away, for fear that they might truly know you.  Through those three years I developed the confidence, to not base our relationship upon his approval of me, but upon a simple love that fathers and sons should have for one another unconditionally.

Since that beautiful day in May, my dad and I speak at least two or three times a week.  We speak of everything from relationships to Auburn and Alabama football (War Eagle Dad!).  However, what we speak of is not the point.  The point is that we speak. Not only do we speak, we care for each other.  We don't speak out of obligation, however we speak out of authentic and unconditional love.  I have forgiven my dad, and he has forgiven me.  I tell you this story to illustrate a simple point.  Authenticity can create reconciliation.  We often suppress who we are as people, gay or straight, because we believe it will somehow add value to the relationship.  I learn more and more every day that lies are never the answer.  Be who you are.  Approve of yourself.  Love what looks at you in the mirror.  Only then, will the relationships that you so deeply desire actually be fruitful and loving relationships.  Until next time.

Dad, I am so thankful that we have begun a new day.  I am proud of how you have respected and loved me unconditionally through this time in my life.  Honestly, I can not imagine having gone through it without you.  I believe our relationship is being built daily and I am so thankful for that.  I love you Dad.  

Family: Part 1

So I have struggled this week for inspiration for the post.  Usually an event or circumstance occurs that prompts me in a certain direction.  This was not the case.  I ultimately decided that a huge part of anyone's story is their family.  Whether good or bad, present or non existent, close or disjointed, your family experience in a huge way defines who you are.  Though I would love to tell you all about my family and how things have ultimately worked out in this one post, I plan to do it over a series of posts. I hope you don't mind me taking some time to recognize these core people in my life and share a little more about how we all relate.  

I grew up with 3 brothers, yet often felt as an only child.  You see, my youngest brother, Steven, is 7 years older than me.  Let's just say the word "oops" probably came out of my parents mouth at some point.  I had the privilege of spending a lot of time with my mom, as I lived in a single parent household.  I always loved my mom, and for the most part we got along, even through those trying teenage years.  My mom worked as many as 4 jobs at a time to make sure I had everything I needed and wanted in life.  She is one of the most self-sacrificing people I have ever known.  I always felt comfortable around my mom.  I felt as if I could tell her anything, with exception to my sexual orientation.  I'm not sure what I thought her response would ever be.  To this day I'm not sure what it would have been had I come out when I was 18 or 20.

It was a Thursday morning.  I had just had the "coming out" conversation with my cousin and she simply asked if I had told my mom yet.  I told her that I hadn't.  I didn't have peace about it yet.  Throughout the coming out process, somehow, I just felt the right moments.  It was like a comfortable breeze that gently directed me to the right people at the right time.  I woke up that Thursday morning, and it was as if that breeze said, "It's family day."  I picked up my iPhone, pressed the button, and slowly spoke, "call mom at home."  (I do love Siri...)  The phone began to ring, and my heart began to beat faster.  My mom answered and I simply said, "hey."  After brief pleasantries, I finally told her that I needed to tell her something.  With tears in my eyes, not from fear but from the unknown, I began the well-rehearsed speech.  It was a somewhat long and drawn out speech, all to say two simple words; "I'm gay."  It interests me now to contrast my grand oratory with my mother's very simple response.  She simply said, "Lance, all I have ever wanted for you is to be happy."  With a deep sigh of relief, tears began to flow.  Not for any other reason than the realization of how much love this one woman carried in her heart for her children.  There was no judgement, no attempt at counseling, no "I'm disappointed but....", just a simple statement.  What greater statement to show care for someone than your overwhelming desire to simply see someone happy.

It is unfortunate, especially in the South, that my story is often not the story of others.  I have heard stories lately of parent's disapproval of their children's desire to love someone of the same sex. I'm not a parent so I can't speak from their perspective.  I am a human being that understands being worried about a parent's disapproval.  I had no idea how my mom would react, but I knew that I had to live my life.  I knew that ultimately my mom would honor a life of authenticity and that she would love me no matter what.  It is my hope that even as parent's struggle with their own disapproval or misunderstandings, that you can take on the grace and love of my mother and simply say, "All I want is you to be happy."  Thank you momma.