The Pursuit of Being Fully Alive

I’m Not Quite Sure What to Do About My Penis

Struggling with anatomical realities in challenging and surreal times

There are so many of us penis bearers out there that don’t wish to abuse the intrinsic power of our anatomical configuration, but instead, we desire to empower all humans, regardless of gender, sexual identity, political or religious orientation, or anything else that defines who you are or want to be!

Okay. I’m just going to say it…

I’m a middle-aged white guy in a position of privilege and power. AND… I have a penis.

Phew. Got that out there.

But here are a few more facts about me.

· I’ve always had a penis. I was born with one. I didn’t ask for it. I just sort of noticed one day that it was there.

· I was most certainly not born into privilege. In fact, I was born into a blue-collar family where going to Denny’s once a year was about as good as life got. Grand Slam Breakfast was a red-letter day!

· As for the power thing? Yeah, I guess I have to own that. But that wasn’t where I came from either. In fact, I was bullied relentlessly as a kid. Even got pantsed several times in high school gym class so everyone could see that I actually did have a penis. That certainly wasn’t a prideful moment.

· Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve been married for a long time, and my penis has only penetrated one vagina. Call me a freak of nature, but it just sort of turned out that way.

· And I’ve been married to that vagina bearer for decades. I remember reading a book a long time ago called Brain Sex. It posited that some men have more feminine hormones and some women have more testosterone. My wife and I sort of agreed that was in alignment with our reality. She operates in absolutes and trains the dog. I cry at Tom Hanks movies.

· But at the end of the day, when I take off my clothes — I sleep naked — I look down and there it is.

I HAVE A PENIS.

In this year of our Lord, 2022, I’m not really quite sure what to do about that.

I’m a huge fan of Amy Sea’s Breast Stories as so many talented authors step up to own their relationship with their breasts. Some are triumphant. Others are self-deprecating.

A few more just… are.

I haven’t searched MEDIUM to see if someone has attempted to start a pub called Penis Stories. I’m thinking that would be a loss leader, at best. Breasts are a symbol of empowerment. They sustain life and keep countless lingerie fashion designers off the streets.

But when it comes to the penis?!

I can’t unremember my mother speaking to my older sister about her repulsive thoughts about the male appendage.

“Such an ugly part of the body. Who wants to see that?”

I’m the youngest of four. Apparently, she saw it — or at least experienced it — four times.

But I should get to the point…

I’m a dude in a competitive, male-dominated profession. I direct a college choir. You might think there would be something of a gender balance in a profession like that, but as it turns out — not so much.

And to make things worse, I’ve held various administrative positions at my institution as well. Talk about power and privilege!

I had a friend in grad school who was a fine scholar, an excellent musician, and a strong woman.

And… a really good friend.

We would talk about going to the upcoming professional conference, at which point she would say, “I don’t think I can bear the thought of four days of dick-waving choir directors.”

Fill in the blank as you wish. Choir directors. Insurance salesmen. Wall Street brokers.

Regardless of gender — so many dicks to be waved!

This has been a trying semester.

The #metoo movement — as I understand it — finds purpose in shifting the power from the penis bearers to all humans, especially those who have suffered in the shadows of those penis bearers.

Which brings me to December 2022.

Remember, I revealed that there’s something in my DNA, at least according to that Brain Sex book, that suggests that my wife who prided herself as a tomboy in childhood may rival my testosterone levels, even after bearing three children.

But, still, I can’t seem to shake the reality that I have a male appendage in a #metoo world. And if I’m being honest, when I look around at some of my friends and colleagues, they’re not helping the cause.

So much dick waving!

I simply don’t know.

I’m a musician because I think art teaches us about the human condition.

I’m a naturist because I believe that I need to be comfortable in my own skin, and vulnerable as a human being even with clothes on.

I’m married because I believe in my wife and she believes in me, and the children we made believe in us and the sanctity of life.

And I’m a blogger because I think I have a story to tell. It’s not extraordinary, except that it’s ordinary.

There are so many of us penis bearers out there that don’t wish to abuse the intrinsic power of our anatomical configuration, but instead, we desire to empower all humans, regardless of gender, sexual identity, political or religious orientation, or anything else that defines who you are or want to be!

I just wish people wouldn’t hold my penis — that’s awkward! — as a primary suspect in a campaign for self-preservation and subordination of those who don’t have one.

Again. I didn’t ask to have one.

I just do.

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