The 2017 East Coast GBTQ Men's RC Workshop
This year's Gay Men's workshop started a day earlier than usual which meant that, including the 24 hour pre-workshop for men of color, I was away from home for almost five days. It went remarkably well considering how old and cantankerous I've become over the years.
For me, the workshop actually began at Port Authority where, instead of riding a commuter bus full of non-RCers, someone had arranged for a minivan to meet thirteen of us men of color out in front of the building on Eighth Avenue. The trip was inexpensive, relaxing and fast.
In a strange way, it almost helps that, over the years, the workshop site has becomme a familiar scene for many recurring dreams. Something about creaking old stair steps and the antique furniture of the rambling old inn brings out the deep nostalgia in me and it was further nurtured by the fact that I had the same roommate as last year, an older black man with southern roots.
About six other people arrived later that evening, bringing the total of POC to nineteen - about six fewer than last year, but, still close to 40% of what would be the total workshop population. Strangely, the only thing I can remember from that first night is that nobody needed a name tag; except in the case one young man from Brazil where I kept inverting the vowels of his name (I kept saying, Nemo instead Nomi) I could recall pretty much everyone's name after the first go-round of introductions.
Introductions in front of the group took up most of that first night. In addition to our name and where we were from, we were asked to share a highlight from the past twelve months. I chose to tell about my Lenten Book entry which a lot of people seemed to like.
That was about all we had time for the first night. We'd begun late and bedtime (for me) came quickly. A lot of people stayed up and partied. I was fascinated by the sound system which consisted of two wireless speakers tuned to a network of about five or six RCer's smartphones. They, in turn, kept the workshop pumped with music throughout the weekend.
The next morning, we began where David had left the previous year, with the different ways in which we, as gay men, choose to "go away", to remove ourselves from the friction and turbulence of daily human contact. It was a variation of his theme of the plexiglass shield, which he began exploring several years ago. Again, going in a circle, he had us answer the questions, "What Is Your Addiction?"."What Triggers It?", "How Do You Specifically Keep People Away?" I'm missing a couple of others, but, the thing I want to emphasize is that the questions arose organically from within the group. I think David began by just asking us what we wanted to know about everybody else. The suggestions came almost immediately.
The most common addiction, by an overwhelming margin, was pornography, followed by caffeine, television, social media, and shopping.
What triggers them? Loneliness was the overwhelming favorite with a huge subcategory of people (like myself) who often feel lonely in crowded circumstances (subways, streets, clubs - you name it. My favorite is church.)
How do we keep people away? The most common ways were not returning telephone calls and not answering e-mails. My personal favorite, especially if the communication is from another RCer, is to rule it a "blue page violation", i.e., something not within the normal activities of a co-counselor according to the Guidelines (which were once colored blue) and which pretty narrowly confines stuff to exchanging "time" as counselor and client. I've had odd requests over the years, like accompanying someone to the doctor's office; stand by them while they confront their landlord; attend their wedding. The blue pages can get stretched in all sorts of directions.
A big sea change occurred at the workshop with the arrival of the first wave of white co-counselors. This happened almost immediately after dinner on Thursday night. And, because so many of us were slow in getting back to the main meeting room, a sizable number of the men of color missed the introductions of the new men. When we walked into the space, all the front row seats had big hand-written signs on them reading "Reserved For Men of The Global Majority" - RC-speak for POC - and were nearly all empty because we were late.
Oops.
For me, the workshop actually began at Port Authority where, instead of riding a commuter bus full of non-RCers, someone had arranged for a minivan to meet thirteen of us men of color out in front of the building on Eighth Avenue. The trip was inexpensive, relaxing and fast.
In a strange way, it almost helps that, over the years, the workshop site has becomme a familiar scene for many recurring dreams. Something about creaking old stair steps and the antique furniture of the rambling old inn brings out the deep nostalgia in me and it was further nurtured by the fact that I had the same roommate as last year, an older black man with southern roots.
About six other people arrived later that evening, bringing the total of POC to nineteen - about six fewer than last year, but, still close to 40% of what would be the total workshop population. Strangely, the only thing I can remember from that first night is that nobody needed a name tag; except in the case one young man from Brazil where I kept inverting the vowels of his name (I kept saying, Nemo instead Nomi) I could recall pretty much everyone's name after the first go-round of introductions.
Introductions in front of the group took up most of that first night. In addition to our name and where we were from, we were asked to share a highlight from the past twelve months. I chose to tell about my Lenten Book entry which a lot of people seemed to like.
That was about all we had time for the first night. We'd begun late and bedtime (for me) came quickly. A lot of people stayed up and partied. I was fascinated by the sound system which consisted of two wireless speakers tuned to a network of about five or six RCer's smartphones. They, in turn, kept the workshop pumped with music throughout the weekend.
The next morning, we began where David had left the previous year, with the different ways in which we, as gay men, choose to "go away", to remove ourselves from the friction and turbulence of daily human contact. It was a variation of his theme of the plexiglass shield, which he began exploring several years ago. Again, going in a circle, he had us answer the questions, "What Is Your Addiction?"."What Triggers It?", "How Do You Specifically Keep People Away?" I'm missing a couple of others, but, the thing I want to emphasize is that the questions arose organically from within the group. I think David began by just asking us what we wanted to know about everybody else. The suggestions came almost immediately.
The most common addiction, by an overwhelming margin, was pornography, followed by caffeine, television, social media, and shopping.
What triggers them? Loneliness was the overwhelming favorite with a huge subcategory of people (like myself) who often feel lonely in crowded circumstances (subways, streets, clubs - you name it. My favorite is church.)
How do we keep people away? The most common ways were not returning telephone calls and not answering e-mails. My personal favorite, especially if the communication is from another RCer, is to rule it a "blue page violation", i.e., something not within the normal activities of a co-counselor according to the Guidelines (which were once colored blue) and which pretty narrowly confines stuff to exchanging "time" as counselor and client. I've had odd requests over the years, like accompanying someone to the doctor's office; stand by them while they confront their landlord; attend their wedding. The blue pages can get stretched in all sorts of directions.
A big sea change occurred at the workshop with the arrival of the first wave of white co-counselors. This happened almost immediately after dinner on Thursday night. And, because so many of us were slow in getting back to the main meeting room, a sizable number of the men of color missed the introductions of the new men. When we walked into the space, all the front row seats had big hand-written signs on them reading "Reserved For Men of The Global Majority" - RC-speak for POC - and were nearly all empty because we were late.
Oops.