Today marks 29 months since the last time I actively watched pornography.
I’ve never committed to 29 months of anything. Aside from being alive, it is my longest running accomplishment.
Throughout the duration these 29 months I’ve fought, lusted, coveted, stumbled, fallen, cried, almost given up, gotten back up, and continued the fight only to fall again. In that regard, it doesn’t seem like much of anything to be proud of.
It’s a cold and rainy day here in Los Angeles. I slept in late, missed my bus, and waited in the rain for a ride to Starbucks this morning. The next bus didn’t take me far enough, and I walked with my pack slung over my shoulder down the dirty Hollywood sidewalk, my faded boots with fraying laces and thin soles carrying me the rest of the way. By the time I made it, I was aching for a cup of coffee only to discover the café in Barnes and Noble conveniently covered up all their outlets to keep out bloggers like me. Considering I am writing these blogs on a Macbook fossil — an artifact Indiana Jones would have fallen into a pit of snakes for — I was forced to venture on because my machine cannot last without power.
Cold, tired, hungry, feeling anxious because it was already 9:30 a.m. and I still had no damn idea what I was going to write about this morning, I started clicking through the internet looking for inspiration after I got settled a few blocks down the road. And how quickly I stumbled upon swimsuit models, sexy rock stars, and lingerie ads. Reminded that it’s been over eighteen months since the last time I looked at pornography, my heart hurt. Not for me—it’s simply no longer a part of my life, and I don’t miss it—but for the millions of individuals caught in a worldwide lie.
The first time I used pornography I was eleven-years-old.
Can you imagine waiting to have sex until you meet someone so devastatingly beautiful it hurts your lungs to breathe just imagining a life without them? The kind of beauty that cannot be contained within only the heart. A beauty that floods your veins and fills you with the commodity of promise and hope that every rotten little thing about this life is going to be okay? Someone who shares all your beliefs? Trusts you and knows your heart; has your heart. A best friend you can laugh with, and cry your eyes out with on their shoulder moments later. Someone Worth. Dying. For. What would the sex be like then? Would you ever want to sleep with anyone else ever again? There are over six billion people on this planet, and out of all of them you are choosing to collide with one to express the ultimate act of vulnerability. Consider the possibility that this particular someone is the only someone you were ever supposed to have sex with. You trust them with all your heart, with every ounce and fiber of your very being. It’s fearless, unconditional love. So you’re never afraid to ask for anything in the bedroom, or on the kitchen table, the back seat of the car… or stand naked together in the middle of a room, all the lights on, not hiding yourself.
What would sex be like then if we were enveloped in trust instead of lust?