Is good Writing Becoming a Crime?

Most people don't know this, but I went back to school about a year ago to pursue a degree in medical lab sciences. I kept it to myself until now, mainly because I had no idea how it would go or how I would adapt to the study, paper, and exam routine. It turns out, I have adapted surprisingly well. After a year, my GPA is at 3.9. It would be 4.0, but I only got an 89% in precalculus. So far, the classes I've enjoyed the most are statistics, chemistry, and political science. I even enjoyed precalculus a lot more than I imagined. It was the class I was dreading, and while I had my moments of wanting to throw in the towel, I stuck with it and ended with a grade I am more than happy with. I got 107% in phlebotomy and aced my clinical rotation at the Comprehensive Cancer Center. I am only half-joking when I say I panic at any grade below 98%. A few of my professors have told me to relax and reminded me that I only need to pass. That's great for some, but I need to pass with an A. I was not a good student when I was younger, and the revelation that I can be "that" student has been beyond incredible.

While I prefer in-person classes, I am taking two online ones at the moment. I had clinical rotations and needed the flexibility because I didn't know what my clinical schedule would be. I'm in my last few weeks of statistics and English 102. I was dreading statistics since it is quite mathy, but I have a very open schedule, which gives me tons of time to read, review, and practice. Anyone who knows me knows that I love to write. It's something I do to relax. So I was looking forward to a class that is all about one of my favorite hobbies. For the class, I have to write three papers, between three and five pages in length. One is an evaluation essay—I chose a website design product I have worked with since 2018. The second is a problem-solving essay, in which we had to choose a specific, narrow real-world issue and propose a couple of solutions. The paper's audience would be the person or persons who could implement the solution. I chose the multi-use trail in my neighborhood and the danger of e-bikes on the winding path. The last paper is one with a bit of research. We have to choose a topic that is commonly misunderstood, state the misconceptions, find sources that challenge those misconceptions, and weave in a personal example. All easy-peasy papers. Or so I thought.

My English professor requires that all papers be submitted using Turnitin, the software schools have been using for ages to detect plagiarism. Now, Turnitin has added AI detection, and this is where things get dicey. Turnitin AI will analyze a paper and decide if it is "likely" to have been written, in whole or in part, by AI. Keep that word "likely" in mind. Anything under 20% gets an asterisk, and most teachers leave it at that. In my class, anything above 20% is ineligible for grading. The options? Take a failing grade or redo the assignment on a different topic. What gets flagged as 80% in one detector gets flagged as 0% AI in another. Which one is correct? Who decides? Who decides who gets to decide?

My writing has ranged from an asterisk to 85%, and I seem to be clocking in closer to 30% as I do more papers. When I received the first email saying my paper came back flagged as 85% AI, I was stunned. And angry. And confused. Even writing about it now, those feelings rush right back in. I emailed my teacher to dispute the accusation of cheating, and he told me he wasn't accusing me of cheating or wrongdoing; he said the paper was flagged and that I needed to redo the assignment. That made no sense to me. If I wasn't cheating, and if I hadn't done anything wrong, then why was I being punished with another assignment?

I rewrote it anyway. I whipped out a new paper on a new topic, EMS Fitness, in about an hour. That one got a 95% grade. The original paper clocked in at 41%, and after reworking and resubmitting, it came in between the high 20s and the low 40s. That's likelihood, not fact. And that likelihood takes none of my previous writing into account. I've written professionally since my early 20s. This blog started after years of writing funny stories to friends who begged me to blog. I was the person my friends came to when they needed their papers proofread and edited.

The problem with AI detection is that there is no proof. I can't prove I wrote it, and Turnitin can't prove I didn't. It becomes a he-said / it-said situation. With plagiarism, at least there's something concrete to point to. I spent the night looking up information and statistics on Turnitin AI. Turnitin has been trained on over a billion student papers—papers they scanned to identify potential cheaters, but then kept forever so they could evaluate new submissions. It looks for patterns, vocabulary, polished grammar, all the things that were drilled into me when I was younger, and many things I have refined over the years. Oh, and that long dash "—" is called an em dash. It's been around since the 17^th century, and used to set off an explanatory remark, not unlike a parenthesis. Shakespeare was a big fan. So is ChatGPT, but it is not proof of AI writing.

They claim a false positive rate of around 1%. I have several issues with that number. Independent testing, including from outlets like the Washington Post, has shown a false-positive rate closer to 50%. And if no one can prove whether AI did or didn't write something, then where exactly does the "1%" come from? I could not find any feedback loop. That's disturbing, because a feedback loop tells you what's working and what isn't, like when a product stops selling, or when raising a price causes sales to fall. But when AI flags a paper as being written by AI, something neither party can prove, how does a false positive ever get reported? Turnitin is a billion-dollar company that makes money by identifying "cheats," for lack of a better word. It is in their best interest to flag as much as possible. The more "cheats" they find, the more institutions will be keen to keep paying for it.

I also discovered that universities such as Yale, UC Berkeley, UCLA, UCI, Vanderbilt, Notre Dame, Georgetown, the University of Edinburgh, and others have banned or strongly recommend against using Turnitin AI detection. That alone says a lot. Institutions like MIT have also debunked AI detectors.

So now I'm in the awkward position of having two outstanding papers being held up by AI detection. My professor and I have exchanged dozens of emails. At one point, he asked if he could run my long email—over two pages—through Turnitin. It came back at 0% AI. Now he argues that I can write without flagging. And yes, technically he's right. But what is the difference between my papers and that email? Anger? Emotion? Stress? A lack of transitional sentences? No neat structural phrases like "in conclusion"? I honestly don't know.

On Tuesday morning, I decided to start over and write a new problem-solving essay on a new topic. It took me about an hour. I submitted it, and it came back over 30% AI. I asked my instructor whether there was a difference between the first page, which did not flag, and the second page, which did. He didn't look. He only looks at the score. I asked if, after reading my emails and the first page of my paper, it seemed unreasonable that I would have written it without AI. Again, he doesn’t look at them if they don’t qualify for grading.

Here is one of the paragraphs in question. According to Turnitin, I used AI to write this:

Installing convex mirrors that provide visibility around otherwise blind curves is another practical solution. The same types of mirrors are used in residential communities, parking garages, and hospital hallways. A couple of well-placed mirrors at the S-curve and recreation center would help everyone see who is coming when navigating those areas. The visibility would give both cyclists and pedestrians an extra few seconds to react and plan. Once installed, the mirrors require minimal maintenance. They are a cost-effective way to make long-term safety improvements.

 

Is it unreasonable to believe that I wrote that paragraph without help?

And that begs the question: if a professor refuses to apply the tiniest bit of human judgment, then what is the point of having a professor? If AI can deem my paper AI-written, then let it grade the paper, stop paying the professors, and make college more affordable.

With my grade and degree hanging in the balance, I've offered to write my papers under supervision—in his office or anywhere on campus. He can choose the topic on the spot, so I have no time to prepare, lest he think I memorized something from ChatGPT. Since the paper has to be on something we are knowledgeable about, I only ask that he limit it to marketing or small business. I haven't heard back. I figure there are only two outcomes: I pass the AI detection and am eligible for grading, or I flag as AI, with incontrovertible proof of authorship, which I assume would make my paper eligible for grading.

This whole dilemma is getting in the way of my other classes. My statistics class, which I really enjoy, has an extra credit paper we can write. My current grade is in the higher 90s, and as much as I love a triple-digit grade, I'm going to sit this one out. I don't want to deal with the stress, and I can't risk my degree or everything I've worked for this past year.

It makes me angry and sad, and honestly, it makes me wonder how many other students are in the same situation. Even at a 1% error rate, that's 300 on my campus alone. If the error rate is closer to the Washington Post numbers, that jumps to 15,000. I try not to let fear hold me back. I will often do something just because it scares me. But this time, fear wins out. I can't risk it. Since when did going to college mean holding back and dumbing down? Keep in mind, we are talking likelihood, not proof.

What if you were driving down the street, and you got pulled over and fined for speeding? You weren't, but the officer thinks it's 35% likely that you were, given that you drive a sports car: no ticket, no reports to insurance, no accusation, no wrongdoing, just a fine based on likelihood. But you can't leave without paying the fine. If you don't pay, your car gets impounded. Would you quietly pay the fine? What if instead of a fine, you had to forfeit your license? Would you?

When people talk about how AI writes, they seem to think that AI has created a new way of writing. It didn't. It learned from billions of samples across centuries. AI has supposedly read every book ever published. It was taught how to write by humans. Is it really such a stretch to think that maybe some of us legitimately and without malice, write similarly? Here's a fun fact: the first time I ever used ChatGPT, a few days after it was publicly released, I did have a bit of a "That sounds like something I would say" moment. At the time, I thought it was funny. Now, not so much.

I've heard stories of students sacrificing a better grade to avoid being flagged by AI. What doesn't flag? Typos. Bad grammar. Poor structure. And what brings down a grade? Typos. Bad grammar. Poor structure. Sounds like a win-win to me! Alec, I’ll take impossible situations for 100! Turnitin doesn't read papers. I could say that I was hanging out with George Washington while he was writing Harry Potter, and that wouldn't flag as AI, even though AI is famous for hallucinating. But if my punctuation and grammar are perfect? That's another story.

When I was a teenager, we didn't have spellcheck; we had to know how to spell or look it up in a dictionary. In the library. We typed our papers on old typewriters, and for term papers, we weren't allowed to use correction tape or fluid. If we made a mistake in the last word of a footnote, we tore out the paper and started over. No copy/paste, no undo button. We were taught to be on our game when it came to writing.

And now, apparently, that's suspicious, at least to an algorithm.

The 2024 election and me

 The election was a week ago today. And since then, I have been feeling depressed, scared, sad, and so many other emotions. I have spent the past few days checking in on some friends while avoiding others. I have also seen posts on social media from people who don’t understand our emotions. Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can tell you my story and how this impacts me.

When I was young, I knew I was different. I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t have a word for it or even any context. But I knew. I also knew that I had to keep it a secret. Not like I knew something I wasn’t supposed to talk about. It was instinctual, like I had to keep it a secret to survive.

I didn’t hear the word gay or faggot until I hit middle school and then they seemed to be the only thing anyone called me. I didn’t even know what the words meant, but the tone of voice told me it wasn’t good. There was also nobody to ask. Again, instinctually, I knew I had to keep it to myself. I was teased, bullied, beat up, all for something I wasn’t fully aware of and didn’t understand. Everyone else seemed to live in a world I didn’t. I was different. I hadn’t done anything. I wouldn’t have known what to do if the opportunity presented itself. I had no self-esteem. I just wanted to be invisible and left alone.

Just about the time I started to realize that maybe I was gay, people started dying of AIDS. And before I had even my first real kiss, sex with another man meant death. At church and home, I heard over and over that I was an abomination, destined for hell. They didn’t say it to me directly, but that is what they said about gay people and well, I was becoming more and more aware that I was gay.

My sister outed me to my mom, and the next time I spoke to my mom, she said “I hope you get AIDS and die and go to hell because that is what you deserve.” I argued that I wasn’t a pedophile, rapist, or serial killer. She told me that if I was, at least I would be normal. That’s when I learned that being gay was worse than being those other things. In fact, it seemed there was nothing worse.

The rest of the world seemed to agree, as nothing at all was done while 60,000 or so people died of AIDS in the US. I remember hearing people say that all gay people would be shipped off to an island where we could give each other AIDS and die. That would take care of the problem. It was a “gay cancer,” and God’s will. There was no way around it, I was not welcome or wanted. It made no difference what kind of person I was. I was hated because of what I did in the privacy of my bedroom. “Silence = Death” seemed to be everywhere as we struggled just to get someone, anyone, to care that people were dying. And many of them, dying alone, kicked out of their families, and deserted by “friends.”

As a result of all of this, I had a ton of internalized homophobia. I was gay, and I hated being gay. I spent my life living in fear. Was I saying the wrong thing? Standing the wrong way? Scared I would react if someone mentioned the name of the boy I had a crush on. As an adult, I always had to have stories ready – What did I do over the weekend? Who was I with? Who did I like? I had to be careful not to let an “I love you” slip out when talking on the phone to my partner in case someone heard. I lived two completely different lives. Each of them kind of me, but neither of them really me.

All I wanted was to be “normal” and be able to walk down the street holding someone’s hand and not be in danger. I wanted the freedom to talk about my life at work the way everyone else did and not worry about being alienated or fired. I wanted the life my straight friends and family had, but that I would never be allowed to have. I wanted the government and media to stop talking about my sex life, who I should be able to love or marry, and whether I should even be legal.

By 21, I knew that I would not live to be 30. The odds were against me, as it seemed, the rest of the world was too. From where I stood, to be gay meant to die, because that was what I deserved. It was God’s punishment for me being gay. And the well-meaning friends and family who told me they loved me, they just didn’t approve of my lifestyle, didn’t help.

I was in my 20s when I first became aware of gay pride. I didn’t like it. I wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t understand why gay people needed to go out and have a parade because they were gay. I wanted to be invisible and just exist, and the people in gay pride parades wanted everyone to see them. It made me uncomfortable. I was both jealous and terrified.

Why gay pride? Because in so many places in the US, gay people are discriminated against, threatened with violence, and killed. It’s because there are politicians who want to remove our right to be married, our access to healthcare, and in some cases, even make it illegal to be gay. Books with gay characters get banned. Movies about gay people get boycotted. Children are kicked out of their homes and shunned by friends. They are abandoned and shamed by the very people shouting about family values and Christian love. If we hold hands in public, we are shoving our lives down people’s throats, and our marriages to decades-long partners are seen as harming the sanctity of marriage, while straight people can marry and divorce as they want, and nobody says anything. Just a few examples that I have personally faced. And those types of actions lead many teens and even older gay people to dangerous behaviors, depression, and suicide. I went through a phase of wanting to die instead of being gay. And I’m sure there are people in the world who would have preferred that.

Throughout my adult life, I could always look back and see that progress was being made. There was always movement forward. Maybe the tiniest bit, maybe quite a lot, but it was always forward. We were able to have benefits for partners, adopt children, and get married. It was like we were real people after all. Sure, some people thought I shouldn’t have those things, but they seemed to be in the minority. I was certain I had the support of my friends and family.

But that doesn’t seem to be the case. I understand that we live in a democracy where we all have the right to vote for who we want. I am all for that. For years, we have been hearing about rights being taken away. I would bring this up to friends and family who didn’t want to talk “politics.” Well, it’s not politics, it’s my life. It’s my marriage, my family, my son, my healthcare, my rights. And the fact that people who say they love me vote for people who have been outspoken about their willingness and mission to take away my rights, to make me less of a person, less of a citizen, and treat me as though I do not matter, makes me feel so sad and alone. It makes me feel hated.

For the first time, I can see us moving backward. I don’t know what’s going to happen in January. But if even only a fraction of the GOP’s promises and goals get implemented, it is going to be catastrophic for so many people. They have never hidden their intentions, and yet, so many voted for them and intentionally voted against me and my family. Have they even thought about where this all goes? Let’s say LGBTQ rights are completely wiped out. Who is next? People of color? Women? Non-Christians? And have no doubt, someone will be next.

There is a vindictive part of me that wants to tell everyone who voted against me and my rights that I hope I can return the favor someday, but the truth is, I would never vote against anyone’s rights. And this is not about gay or trans rights, it is about basic human rights. Once they get taken away for one group, they can get taken away for anyone.

Dizzy Blonde

A few weeks ago, the hearing in my left ear went down by 40 decibels. Adjusting to that has been challenging, especially as life starts moving from staying at home to venturing out into public spaces. At home, I have some control over the sounds in the house. If the washer is too loud for me, I can go to my room for some quiet. This past Monday, we went out to dinner for the first time since we started sheltering in place, and it was a glimpse of my new normal. Between the music and the ambient noise, I could not hear anything people said without a lot of concentration. Even then, it only went well about 30% of the time. People wearing masks makes it even harder to hear. I am already tired of asking people to repeat themselves, and for now, I am much more comfortable being at home.

 

About a week or so after the hearing loss, I started to have moments of dizziness. They would last anywhere from one to ten minutes at a time. Now, it is almost the reverse. This is now day three, with mostly non-stop dizziness. Vertigo often comes with hearing loss and tinnitus like mine. The hearing loss seems pretty minor now in comparison. While the hearing loss presented some challenges, I found myself starting to adapt. I know to pause the TV or music if someone is talking to me. People closest to me know, so they are patient when I tell them I didn’t hear them for the third or fifth time. But the dizziness, that is something else entirely.

I call it dizziness for lack of a better word. I am not yet sure what to call it, but dizziness doesn’t quite explain it. It also comes in various forms. When it started, I would suddenly get the spins. The whole room would just spin as though I had way too much to drink. I would usually happen when I was lying down, if I moved my head too fast or if sounds were overwhelming. Since Tuesday, things have been different. Sometimes the room still spins. Most of the time, I feel like I am spinning or moving, and everything else has stopped. I can feel it in my whole body, and I constantly feel like I am going to lose my balance and fall. It has happened, but only a little bit here and there.

Walking down the stairs is scary. I cling to the rail and lean toward on wall, taking it one step at a time. If I forgot something and need to go back upstairs, I put it off until I absolutely have to. Carrying things in my hands while walking downstairs is the worst, and I can’t imagine trying to navigate it in the dark. Something that just a week ago, I did automatically. Looking up while standing is like having the floor open up below me, and I am filled with the sensation of free-falling. Paying attention, holding a conversation, and even writing requires an exhausting level of concentration, and I struggle with all of it. I feel like I am letting everyone down. My son has commented that I seem to have something new wrong with me every week. It’s hard to do the things I usually do with him because of the sounds and movement. It’s difficult doing the things I need to do in business, and that is letting my business partner down. I am cranky, and that is having impacts at home. Sometimes, I don’t know what to do.

I called my ENT, who has prescribed some dizziness and nausea medication. Nausea hasn’t started yet, but it feels like it might. I am not one to feel queasy after a spinning ride or anything like that, but now I am on my fourth day of it being non-stop, and it is wearing me down. In fact, this whole thing is wearing me down. I’m actively trying to fight off depression and not doing such a great job at it. Part of the problem is that there is no forgetting about it, not even for a minute or two. When I had the stroke, there would be moments when I would forget, and those moments were incredible. Yes, there was the harsh moment of reality at some point, but to forget for just a few minutes was a gift. So far, I haven’t been able to forget. Maybe its too new, perhaps that’s how it’s going to be.

I start my dizziness medication today, and the doctor wants an MRI as soon as possible. Maybe it will show something. For now, I am just hoping the medicine works. I'm tired of being a dizzy blonde.

My Newest Adventure

I had always thought hearing loss would be a slow, gradual dialing down of the volume to an ever-increasing silence. That’s why, when I woke up last Saturday with loud ringing and pressure in my left ear, hearing loss was not even on my radar. I assumed it was sinus related. I’ve had horrific sinus issues for years, and six weeks ago, I had surgery to reconstruct my shattered septum, which turned out to be the cause of all the sinus misery. Plugged ears and ringing were nothing new, but as the day went on, things intensified.

I first noticed that I was more sensitive to the sounds in the house. The coffee cup set down on the table. Water running in the sink. The sound of my spoon against the side of the jar as I ate my overnight oats. It was like they were not sounds I was hearing, but explosions that reverberated in my head.

We decided to go out for a walk, to get away from the sound and get some fresh air. The pressure in my ear would change in intensity. The ringing sounded like I was sitting in an airplane right next to the engine. It wasn’t painful, just increasingly annoying. It was when our path took us under a freeway bridge that I realized there was something more going on. The sounds from the cars overhead were intense, as though I were standing in a long echoing tunnel. Once again, I sounded like I was coming from my head. I had to strain to hear the person next to me speaking, and it wasn’t until we were a few hundred feet away that the noise levels started to diminish.

We got home and had a video call with my doctor. He asked if I had lost any hearing, and I said no. It hadn’t occurred to me that I had. I was hearing things- and loudly.  He referred me to the urgent care to make sure there was nothing obviously wrong. I got the all-clear from that doctor, who then referred me to my Ear Nose and Throat (ENT) doctor. I got home and put on some headphones to play a video game. That’s when I noticed it. I was ‘hearing’ a lot of ringing, but there was no actual hearing going on in that ear. That’s when the panic started. I called my ENT, got the on-call doctor who got everything rolling for an appointment for a hearing test that Monday.

The rest of the weekend was full of surprises. As I can only hear in one ear, I can’t follow two streams of sound. If I am watching TV and someone talks to me, it all jumbles up. I have to pause the TV and then listen only to what the person is saying. Eating potato chips or anything crunchy is majorly uncomfortable, and I can’t hear anything at all. Listening to music is not a fun experience with now, as it has a weird effect on the pressure in my ear. And I love music. I always have it on all the time. And I always write with music. Not anymore, at least not at this time.

Grocery stores are the worst. They are a never-ending source of sound torture. It is almost impossible to have a conversation if I am at the sink with running water, and general conversation is just not as much fun as it used to be. You know when you try to sleep, and someone’s car alarm keeps going off all night? That’s what it’s like. It just never takes a break, and nobody is coming to turn it off. Conversations take concentration. I often have to strain to listen, and I have to continually ask what somebody said or let them know I didn’t hear them. Sometimes, like at a grocery store, I just smile and nod and hope it was the right thing to do. Work conversations are even more difficult. I often need to brainstorm and think strategically and creatively in the moment. It’s hard to do while trying to ignore the onslaught of sounds around me. I can sometimes hear the aggravation in Keith’s voice after he asked me to help him in the kitchen or something, and I just didn’t hear him.

Monday, I had the hearing test, and the results confirmed a 40-decibel hearing loss in my left year. The doctor told me I have Sudden Sensorineural Hearing Loss. While there is a laundry list of what may cause it, from viruses to tumors, there is not much knowledge about it. There are also not many options for treatment. I started a round of high-dose steroids, which I am now about half-way through. If those don’t work, then the next step is an MRI. So far, there has been no change.

I am trying to stay positive, doing the treatments that might, but probably will not bring my hearing back, and at the same time, be realistic about the possibility of this being something that is here to stay. I don’t know how that will work. I have found a couple of great resources that are helping me understand what is going on and also figuring out what comes next.

The C Word

Last April, I was having allergy issues. I was on my way into work with a sore throat, cough and my sinuses feeling like an over-inflated balloon. I have had those attacks before and, knowing the process and progression, made an appointment with the doctor. It was during the drive to the doctor that I discovered the lump. It was tiny, in the soft part of my neck just under where the jawbone meets the ear.

I mentioned it to the doctor who explained it was probably nothing. He gave me some antibiotics for it and advised me to use compresses. I was told to make another appointment if it lingered beyond four weeks. I decided not to say anything to anyone at that time. It was nothing and would probably go away and I didn’t want to worry anyone. I know people want to be there, but sometimes that just adds way more stress to the situation. I didn’t want to be asked how I was or be sent uplifting texts, I just wanted to get the facts of what was going on.

A month went by and the lump was still there, so I went to the doctor who then ordered an ultrasound. By that time, my cough had progressed to the point it was getting in the way of my life. I do quite a bit of public speaking and webinars. I could barely speak a sentence without igniting a coughing fit. By this time, I told John what was going on, but still kept it all contained. The results of the ultrasound led the doctor to believe I should be referred to a cancer surgeon.

I decided to let a couple of people in on what was going on. I still had no diagnosis and I found great comfort and escape in my everyday life. Nobody bringing it up unless I did. I finally had my appointment with the cancer surgeon late in August. He was amazing. I only knew what I had seen in movies and TV, but my doctor was personable and friendly and I was immediately at ease. Well, as much at ease as anyone can be when the conversation includes words like Lymphoma. He told me he wouldn’t really be worried about the lump on its own, but when he put that with the cough I then had for five months and a few other things, he told me there was cause for concern, but he wanted to perform a PET scan.

A PET scan involves being injected with radioactive sugar, waiting about 40 minutes and then having a full body MRI type scan. The test looks for cells that are aggressively feeding on the sugar. All I had going through my head at that time was the phrase “lit up like a Christmas Tree.” The whole process was starting to take a mental and emotional toll. I kept thinking about Ryder and how this might all affect him. He is still settling into the fact he has a forever family, that he finally has the feeling of safety that is letting him relax into his life.

I had the PET scan and then the wait for the results. I had my appointment for September 26, several weeks after the test itself. I discovered that I would pick up a copy of the lab report myself, prior to the appointment. I kept it in the envelope for a couple of days and then took a look. I knew there would be no going back once I saw the results. I scanned the report and for the most part it seemed ok. There were a few things, but it seemed there was nothing major.

Finally the day of the appointment rolled around and the doctor went through the results, telling me that while there was a tiny abnormality, he believed it was nothing and that it was something we should follow and monitor for a bit, but as of that time, no further action was needed.

After 6  months of waiting and doctors and stressing, I had my answer. I told the few people that knew and let them know all was well. A week later, my phone rang. It was the doctor’s office. There was an addendum to the report. Things didn’t look as great as they thought and the doctor wanted a biopsy as soon as it could be scheduled. The appointment was scheduled for a few weeks out. I told John and two other people. The emotional back and forth was making me depressed, anxious and short-tempered.

The procedure itself was not a big deal, I was awake and watching on the monitor as the needle biopsy was performed. It was done pretty quick and then I had another three weeks to wait for the results. A few days before the appointment, they pushed it out by another two weeks. I would not get the results until just after Thanksgiving.

And then I got laid off. The company I worked for was having issues and those issues made it impossible for me to do my job. When everything with the company happened, I expected my position to be officially terminated within a week or two. Instead, it was closer to six months. I was going to leave that position a few weeks later, they just changed my timing.

I got the results the week after Thanksgiving. The biopsy came back great, but as it was a needle biopsy, there are two things to consider; A) There is no cancer B) There is cancer but the needle didn’t get to that part. So, for now, it is assumed that I am in the clear and I will have a few appointments to just monitor and follow-up until the doctor is convinced there is nothing to worry about.

So for now, for me, there is nothing to worry about.

Vanishing Rights

So yesterday, I got into an argument with someone about what is happening with rights here in America. Gay rights, women’s rights, etc., and I was basically shut down and told that this is America and rights don’t just get taken away. I was told this isn’t a Muslim country and it couldn’t and wouldn’t happen here. But here’s the thing… It is. Happening. Here.

On Friday, October 6, Health and Human Services (HHS) made it way easier for employers to opt out of covering contraception on religious or moral grounds. That means, employers have been given a pass to discriminate against women.  And the White House will back them up. In March, Trump revoked the 2014 Fair Pay and Safe Workplaces order which was primarily meant to help working class women from workplace abuse. Now, women are more vulnerable to sexual harassment. Now we can all grab women by the pussy at work whenever the whim hits.

They have also cracked down on abortion, which means that while a baker can refuse to deliver a cake to a same-sex wedding, a woman should not be allowed to terminate her rape or molestation related pregnancy. Mike Pence wanted to change the definition of rape to include only “forcible rape.” Isn’t that term a bit redundant? He also believes that “the hard truth of our experiment with gender integration [in the military] is that it has been an almost complete disaster for the military and for many of the individual women involved.” Perhaps if the Department of Defense did not make it a point to cover up sexual harassment and assault, and if they not provide $41.6 million (according to the Defense Health Agency) worth of Viagra to the troops, perhaps the gender integration experience might have gone just a bit better. At least for the women involved.  

Moving onto gay issues and the military ban on transgender Americans. This does not affect me directly, but discrimination of any type should not be tolerated. By anyone. I don’t know what it is like to be transgender and I personally don’t understand it, any more than I understand what it is like to be a woman or a person of color, but that is irrelevant. Transgender people are just that, people. We are talking about banning people from serving their country because they were born a certain way? Let’s ban rapists. Let’s ban spouse abusers, child abusers, molesters, white supremacists and people who spread hate and intolerance. I have never understood that way of thinking. When my mom found out I was gay, she said that if I were a murderer, rapist or child molester that I would at least be “normal.” It seems Trump’s administration feels the same way.

This became more obvious when the administration argued in federal court that a 1964 civil rights law does not protect gays, lesbians or transgender people in the workplace. The law, Title VII, outlaws discriminating against workers “because of sex.” It now seems ok for me to be treated as less than a second-class citizen just because of who I have sex with. In the privacy of my own home. With the curtains drawn. And the door locked. Of course, this can’t happen here, in America, but I think someone forgot to tell that New York Skydiving company who fired an employee for being gay.

Last month, the Department of Justice backed the rights of a baker to not make a wedding cake for a same-sex marriage between two men. The baker didn’t want to do it because it went against his religious or moral beliefs, yet I am going to assume the man has provided services to adulterers, liars, thieves, worshippers of false gods, people who take the Lord’s name in vain, people who have coveted their neighbors wife and those guilty of any number of transgressions that the baker should probably smite instead of offering them baked goods. I’m fine if someone wants to make decisions based on their religious or moral beliefs, and if they don’t want to make a cake for my wedding, I’m cool with that. I am happy not to fork over my money, but they do not get to pick and choose which moral and religious beliefs they will stick to while ignoring others because they are not convenient to that person’s lifestyle. My step dad was one of those people. Go to church, pray, smile, gossip about what people are wearing and then go home and beat the children.

Pence and Trump also threw their support behind Roy Moore, a Republican candidate from Alabama who has said “homosexual conduct should be illegal” and who Trump describes as “a really great guy.” Again no surprise as the Vice President has long been open about his views on gays. He has stated that being gay was a choice – for the record, being gay is not a choice, but being narrow-minded and spreading a hate filled agenda is – and he stated “societal collapse was always brought about following an advent of the deterioration of marriage and family.” So my relationship is bringing this country down. But then, Pence also believes that “Despite the hysteria from the political class and the media, smoking doesn’t kill.” This is a man that wants to defund HIV and AIDS programs to “provide assistance to those seeking to change their sexual behavior.”

Let’s remember, the deviant sexual behavior he believes needs to be changed is same-sex sex. Not molestation sex. Not rape sex. Not abuse of power sex. But same-sex sex.

On September 1^st, Trump nominated James Bridenstine to be the next Administrator of NASA. Bridenstine has stated “many studies have shown that both a mother and father are essential for raising successful and healthy children.” Not only does he attack same-sex parent families, he goes after single parents, grandparents raining their grandchildren and any other family that does not fit into his outdated picture of what that should look like. There is no typical family anymore. And the fact that someone believes my son is better off in the foster system or in an abusive mom/dad family than with us is beyond repulsive. But the good news is that none of that happens here in America. He also lacks any formal qualification in science or engineering. And he rejects the scientific community when it comes to climate change, but that is a whole other topic.

In 2017, Karen Handel was elected to the US Congress and when asked about same-sex couples adopting, stated “I have to honest – my faith calls me to a different place on the issue.” So in other words, she is openly against same-sex couples adopting and with all the rest, against my family.

While I know this is America and there is no way my rights can be repealed, lessened, taken away or eroded in any way, these things are cause for concern. And for anyone who thinks these things don’t apply to them because they are outside a certain demographic or group, think again. It won’t stop there. Today, gay people are the easy target. We are visible and for some reason, we scare some people. I don’t know why.

The thing that scares me is that it never stops “there,” wherever “there” is. And the target shifts as time moves on. Black people. Women. Native Americans. Mexicans. Chinese. Jews. Muslims. Wait and do nothing long enough, and eventually you will become a target as well. And you too can know the joys of having your rights whittled away while those around you tell you that you are being silly and overreacting. 

The Long Goodbye

My friends, family and anyone who reads this blog knows I have a challenging relationship with my mom. My mom is a person who, for whatever reason, has chosen to fill her life with anger and resentment. For the past thirty years, I have tried reasoning, arguing, pushing, distancing and incorporating every communication model and method I could get my hands on. Nothing changed except my levels of hope and frustration. I always held hope that one day, somehow, something would happen and my mom would see all the opportunities for joy she has in her life. I held hope for her to be the mom I always wanted and needed her to be. I wished for her to embrace my nephews and also my son. She has repeatedly chosen not to. I have watched her push away friends and other family. I have been witness to her unleashing the most hateful and hurtful words on people I love. She has directed those hateful words to me as well. When my mom found out I was gay, she told me that I would ‘get AIDS and die and go to hell because that is what I deserved.” That is one of the milder statements to come from my mom.

And still, I held hope. People told me to give up and I didn’t listen. I would call or visit her for an hour and then need days to detox from the experience. For over two decades, I have been struggling with what to do. I turned it all inward, examining what I could do or say differently. I have come to realize what others in my life have known for some time. There is nothing I can do differently. My mom is making her choices.

Three days before this past Christmas, I stopped by her house for a visit. As always, I hoped Christmas would soften her just a little and as always, I ended up being surprised when it was the same experience that keeps repeating itself. I chose to stay quiet while my mom delivered her well rehearsed monologue for over an hour, berating me for being a bad person, a selfish and self-centered son who treats her as though she were garbage. I left that day and again, it was almost a week before I felt like me again. My entire life, I have watched her drive people away. Her best friend, her daughter, my niece and anyone else who comes into her life.

Just over a week ago, I received an email from her. The first line apologized for the last visit. I felt my hope rise as it always has. The rest of the email was full of the resentment, anger and hate that has come to define my mom. In the email she states that I have the characteristics and traits she hates in people. In that instance, I made a very difficult decision I had been battling for over two decades. Thursday evening I took a deep breath, exhaled and severed my relationship with her.

I feel both sad and relieved. I still hold hope that one day she will have that epiphany and chose for happiness, joy and family and at the same time, I also know that I can’t have her in my life in any capacity at this time.

Saying Yes... Again...

March 7, 2009. I wrote and published a blog post titled Just Say Yes.You can read the post for yourself if you like, but basically it was about the decision to say yes to possibilities. At some point, I moved away from saying yes and moved toward maybe or perhaps later. From there it was only a matter of time until I heard myself saying no and then later, I can’t. I have said I can’t so many times. Too many times. I have said it aloud. I have said it to myself. I have put it on a loop and let it become my mantra. I can’t became a blanket. It felt safe. Safe is good. I’ve had a stroke. That is when I can’t started. I can’t walk. I can’t type. I can’t stand on one foot. I can’t run. I can’t (insert something here. I probably said that too!)

I can’t didn’t stop there. It started oozing into other areas of my life. I can’t be fit. I can’t be happy. I can’t be a good dad. I can’t be me. Me? In many ways, I have forgotten who I am. I shelved myself.

I became the partner.
I can’t be me. 
I became the business trainer and counselor.
I can’t be me. 
I became the dad.
I can’t be me. 

In between being a partner, dad and my job, I had absolutely no time to be me. I also didn’t even realize I had completely packed away who I was to be what was needed. I needed to be a good partner. I still do and I think I am. I also need to be a good dad. I think I do an OK job there. I enjoy my job. I’m very good at it. I have a great reputation. Robb knows. Robb can do it. Robb is the guy. I love the compliments. I love the trust people have in me. And at the same time, they have trust in a version of me. Me, and yet not me.

Just over a week ago, I hit a wall. I felt confined and suffocated. It wasn’t really triggered by anything and yet it was everything. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I started to feel scary things. Thing that were tinted with, I hesitate to even type it out now…

I love my family. I take great pride in my family. My family means the world to me. Ryder is the greatest love of my life. Ever. And yet, there it was. It wasn’t even really there. It was more like when you have a dream and you know someone is there even though you never actually see them. You just feel their presence. Yes, there it was, lingering just outside the edge of the picture. Resentment. When that word popped up in my head, it was shocking. It was scary. It was shaming.

How could I have that feeling when I am so in love with my family? My husband?  My son? My awesome-sometimes-frustrating-always-fantastically-perfect-just-as-he-is-son? It was a horrifying revelation. And since I have a very vivid and active imagination, I immediately projected decades into the future and saw how my whole family had fallen apart and John hated me, Ryder was in jail and I was miserable and alone and it all started at that moment. The moment I let my family down. The moment that slight tinge of resentment came into my life. Our lives.

Years ago, I was doing business with a company in Seattle. It was on a training visit that I got meet Deli and Halley. I had spoken to Deli many times on the phone and every word she said would sing through the phone with such authenticity, passion and so full of, well, Deli. Before meeting her, she became one of my favorite people. I loved her calls. She had me at hello, putting my spirits in a good place. I met her wife, Halley on that visit in Seattle. We spent a brief amount of time together and since then, we have always stayed in touch in that Facebook sort of way, liking updates, commenting here and there and then having the occasional conversation in Messenger. One thing I have come to LOVE about the universe or life or whatever name you want to give it, is when I can look back at seemingly insignificant moments and see those moments as the first steps toward something yet to be.

Halley and Deli have both been AMAZING sounding boards and my go-to people when parenthood rears it's overwhelming head. I knew Halley had been working on a book. Life, Incorporated: A Practical Guide to Wholehearted Living. I actually pre-ordered it months ago and it landed in my hands the morning following my resentment meltdown/revelation. I was still reeling from the shame and shock of it all when I opened to read the first few pages during a break at work. I was stunned. It was like Halley had channeled me. One of the first things she talks about, is the bullshit term of work-life balance. How we have so many places where we spend our energy. So many buckets to fill. Work. Marriage. Family. Me-Time. You get the point. Halley goes on to talk about how we attend to each one on an as-needed basis often times never getting to the Me-Time bucket. That was me. Ryder needs me more than anyone. And I gladly and freely give him my time. Time with him is my favorite time in the world. Even when I am at the end of my frustration rope, he is still my favorite person. His nose makes me smile. It would make you smile too. It’s so small and covered in freckles. He hates the freckles. I think they are spectacular! Anyway, Halley then goes on to talk about how, when she and Deli had their son, how she threw everything into being a mom and provider. And nothing into just being Halley.

I looked around for the cameras. Had she been watching me? Watching my life? I was only a few pages in and already I knew the reason for my meltdown. I had no Me-Time. ME-time. Not getting Ryder to bed so I could be alone for two minutes before dozing off to sleep time. I mean the Me-Time that charged my batteries. Fed my spirit and gave me joy. The Me-Time that let me be Robb. Just Robb. Not Robb the dad – although that is my favorite label! Not Robb the husband. Just Robb. I realized I had not only been neglecting the Me-Time bucket, I had put myself in a box and sealed it with duct tape. Not cool duct tape. Plain, boring, gray duct tape. I neglected and ignored myself. It was making me cranky. It was making me less patient. It was making me wade into the swamp of resentment and that was one place I definitely did not and do not want to be.

As much as I was loving Halley’s book, something was wrong. Something was missing. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I set the book down for a few days to let things simmer and to see what would emerge. Enter Cindy. Cindy is one of the people I have been so blessed to know these past two years. I don’t get to see her as often as I would like. She lives about a two-hour drive away in St. George, Utah. But, she was in Vegas this weekend and we had lunch yesterday. As always, the conversation was wonderful and her energy infectious. I told her about Life, Incorporated and the epiphanies I had already in the first few pages of the book. Conversation drifted and "Year of Yes", by Shonda Rimes came up. I had seen it. I never read it. Cindy has. We talked about Christina Yang. Christina was my favorite character on Grey’s Anatomy. When Christina left the show, so did I. Inwardly, I am a lot like Christina Yang. I related to her more than anyone on the show. Something in me decides I need to read that book. Now. Before I read anything else. Before I finish Life, Incorporated.

I bought the e-book and the audio book just before leaving work and started it up as soon as I got in my car. Within a couple of hours, between the audio and e-book, I was over half way through the book. I realized what was missing when reading Life, Incorporated. I was reading saying maybe, possibly, and a few other things. But I wasn’t saying yes. I realized I could read that book all I wanted to, but like anything, if I didn’t say yes, it wasn’t going to do anything.

Like I did all those years ago, I decided I am going to say yes. Not just to possibilities, but to things that scare me - thanks Shonda – To things that will fill me with joy – Thanks Halley – To things that will make me a better dad and a better husband. I am going to say yes to Me-Time. I will say yes to playing more games. Playing more in general. Yes to being silly. Yes to being a badass. Yes to being me. And yes to saying no to I can’t.

Now I am off to restart Life, Incorporated. Because… Yes!