My story: Coming out

When I turned 30, I had an immensely satisfying, tremendously successful, career.

There can be few vocations more satisfying than engineering. When I complete a job, there is something there, something tangible and useful, something that serves mankind.

Something about which I could say, with pride, “I built that.” In a century, people might still ask, in wonder, “Who built that?”

But I could feel my life slipping away. I was almost halfway to three score and ten.

I wasn’t unhappy, but I wasn’t happy. In my early 20s, I had given up happiness to free myself of torment. I gave up even a thought of physical or emotional attachment to another person. The most I hoped for was contentment.

As I approached 30, I had the increasing sense that I was wasting my humanity, my capacity to love and be loved.

I had the increasing sense that my refusal to embrace joy and love or to evoke them in others was worse than whatever sin I was trying to avoid. I was betraying God, scorning the spark of humanity He had given me, refusing to embrace the essence of His image. My emptiness darkened. My pride in my accomplishments was fading into inconsequence.

But I could not see how I could break out of that emptiness and inconsequence.

I like men and generally find them attractive as human beings. But I could not find emotional or physical intimacy with a man. Emotional or physical attraction to a woman was a sin.

Finally, I made an appointment to see my minister. Perhaps he could help me find a way out of my physical and emotional dilemma. And, if not, help me to regain my pride and a measure of contentment.

He was the first person to whom I came out of closet.

My story: Adult

I escaped to the university. I swore never to have sex again. I became a monk, a studious drone. All work and no play may have made me a dull girl, but it made me a hell of an engineer.

For almost 15 years, I kept a tight lid on my sexuality.

I made myself into the best engineer anyone had ever seen. I was willing to take any assignment. I had no ties. I was willing to take assignments at isolated sites, and to take career risks, that no one with family or friends would take. I became an expert at turning around underperforming projects.

I got additional degrees, in additional disciplines.

I was alone, but I wasn’t lonely.

Two years ago, on a quiet night, I began to wonder if I was wasting the gifts that God had given me.

I made an appointment to talk to the minister of my church.

Lonely: A paradox

I’ve lived alone all my adult life.

I’m friendly with almost everyone I’ve ever met. I have a wide circle of professional respect. But I protected my closet by avoiding close friendship.

I was fine with that. I was content with my independence.

Until I met my Love.

When I was alone, I was never lonely.

Now that I’m not alone, I am lonely.

Whenever we are apart.