One of the great and least considered truths about The Closet is that it is addictive and like most addictions it takes over your life, increasingly governs your behavior and usually leads to great harm to yourself and those around you. But for a long while it also makes you feel like a master of the universe, cool, calculating, safe from the foibles of common folk (like passion, lust and desire), over-confident and very much in control.

I was a functioning Closet-holic for the first 40 years of my life and as it is with most addictions, I had to hit rock bottom before I was able to begin the healing process.

And like any addiction, the addict is never cured and is always in recovery. I would be the first to admit that I am a recovering Closet-holic, always mindful of enablers, enabling situations and triggers.

As I approach my 20th Anniversary of Coming Out (yes, there will be a party), coming out and being out at work remains an ongoing challenge for me and a persistent nuisance. This might surprise some of you, but more likely it will resonate with most of you. While my personal walk-in and luxuriously appointed closet is a distant memory and lies in utter ruin, little residual fears and tiny anxieties poke at my guts every time I find myself in a situation where I have to come out. And each time this happens, I find myself feeling the all too familiar rationalizations that cause me to consider lying. It would be so easy to lie, a little fib in a little situation--but before you know it you've rebuilt part of your Closet. And as any substance abuser knows, even one little drink or snort can easily put you back on the road to ruin.



For some of us, the American workplace is an ongoing test--and that can grow wearisome to say the least.

Unless you've colored your hair shocking pink or you wear sequined tank tops to the office it's likely that many of your co-workers--especially in a large organization--will have no idea that you're gay. And there you are in a meeting and the conversation turns personal, pronouns come into play, and the moment arrives. And no matter how confident you may be in your queerness, you nonetheless look for signs of trouble or discomfort. There's a momentary pause as your co-workers digest the news; or you can see on their faces that they already knew, or you can see them struggling to pretend that they did already know and that it doesn't matter. Occasionally someone "comforts" you with the "news" that you're still the "same person." And it's such a comforting revelation. Yuck.

But of course, it does matter to almost all of them; and if they didn't know, you can sense them adjusting.

I suffered through such an "adjustment" just a few days ago and it wasn't fun. I wanted so badly to lie. I wanted that cigarette, that fix, that easy way out of the stress. I couldn't help but to fear that the revelation about my sexual orientation would cost me the respect so completely deserved for my hard work and obvious accomplishments.

I'm one of the senior executives in an organization of 12,000 employees and although I am out and known to be gay by the CEO, the COO and several of the other Executive and Senior Vice Presidents, there's no reason why the vast majority of my other 11, 985 co-workers would know that I'm gay. In fact, having been in the closet for 40 years as a married man, I will instinctively slip into straight man mannerisms and games at the drop of a hat--depending on the situation. It will happen before I even notice that it's happening. Sometimes I'll even say something really stupid that has no other purpose than to mask my true identity. And then I have to go back and find a way to gracefully correct the record. Bad habits really do die hard.

This recent incident was a classic. As a very serious working session drew to a comfortable and successful close I found myself in a very traditional and ordinary male bonding situation. Bad jokes, back slapping and war stories flew around the table. There were no women in the conference room and it was just us guys, four of us, two subordinate to me and one a peer within the hierarchy. The conversation turned to music and what's on your iPod. I don't own and never would own an iPod. Hate them, but that's a story for another blog. Nevertheless, I love music so these were familiar waters and a comfortable swim. As the guys revealed their tastes, I knew most of the groups by name and was able to share, but when I was asked what's on my iPod, I froze. I stalled by explaining that I don't use an iPod. I love music and my stack of flavors of the week are in my living room CD player.

"And they would be?"

Crap. It was more than likely that none of these guys knew I was gay. Among other things the "bad jokes" involved titties and straight men never tell me tittie jokes when they know I'm gay. And to make matters even worse, much worse, I had been in a personal naked dancing mood the other night and had loaded Gay Anthems I through VI into my CD player. Should I lie? Why am I afraid of the truth? It would have been easy to lie, maybe I should have, but I didn't. Lavender butterflies in my gut, I told the truth--not the naked dancing part but the Gay Anthems part.

My admission delivered a classic pregnant pause as the other boys' faces registered feebly masked surprise. Scotty, beam me up NOW.

"What are gay anthems," broke the silence. I went with some I knew they would know: It's Raining Men, I'm Every Woman, I Will Survive. "Oh, interesting." The meeting broke. Time to go back to work. It was a little chilly in the room. I wondered if they felt deceived by the fact that I had listened to their big tittie jokes as if I was interested. Should I have stopped them and outed myself on the spot, or just stopped them and appeared to be a prude? Should I have told them such jokes were inappropriate in the workplace? Yes, I should have, but I didn't because I was having a Closet relapse. Oh, and yes, I have a ton of Gay Anthems CDs--but only for my naked dancing alone in the living room moments.