I must admit that I have the tendency to become a hermit,
particularly living in the suburbs. But a quick look around the internet shows
that there are some very isolated gay men in Tasmania. And they are isolated by
choice.
We were always taught at school that humanity is a social
species. We thrive because of our ability to form communities and societies and
despite their flaws, it is our ability to work together that has helped us to
spread like a virus over this little blue marble in space.
Yet some of us opt out altogether.
I was chatting just the other night on MSN with a guy called
Marc. At the age of 32 he still lives at home with his folks on Tasmania’s west
coast, probably the most isolated part of Tasmania there is. His drive into a
town of any great size is something which requires an overnight stay. Coffee in
Salamanca or dinner at the Launceston Sea Port is out of the question.
But it hasn’t always been this way.
Marc grew up near Strahan but attended university in Hobart.
Over three years he got educated, came out and met a wonderful guy who he fell
madly in love with. At the tender age of 21, when both he and the BF had
graduated, the guy who he thought would be the love of his life headed back to
the mainland with a parting message along the lines of, “Well, I won’t be
seeing you again because I am married and I have to get on with my married life
now, but it’s been fun.”
Naturally, his heart was broken and with that broken heart,
Marc headed back to the boondocks where he has been ever since, working in the
family business.
Does he regret it? Not at all.
Marc is one of the new generation of gay eunuchs who have
simply opted-out of mainstream gay life. And by “mainstream” I mean that kind
of life where you meet other gay guys in a social setting, date, form
relationships and eventually live together.
“I don’t miss the life at all, really. It’s been over 10
years since I last had a relationship or even met a gay guy romantically and
when I look at what I have compared to what I am missing, the scales still come
up in favour of the life I have now.”
The life Marc has now isn’t too bad, really. His elderly
parents own their farm. He owns two cars, two rental properties that have set
him up, essentially, for life and he even has his own Internet business where
he provides a search service for people researching their family tree.
“I wake up every morning with a view of the Southern Ocean,
sheep and cattle grazing, I can wake up when I want, go to bed when I want and
I don’t answer to anyone really... and most importantly, I can look after my
parents in their old age.”
I asked if it was this that kept him out in the sticks.
“That’s part of it, I guess. It’s the ability to give
something back to my folks for everything they’ve done for me, but when it
comes down to it, I’ve seen the city, and I don’t reckon I am missing
anything.”
The more I chat with guys online, the more I see it. Guys
who don’t only opt out of our more traditional labels like “gay”, “queen”,
“queer” or even “bi”, but who go so far as to opt out of gay life altogether.
In Marc’s case, it has been over 10 years since he last went
on a date with a guy.
Being one who loves my own space, I can certainly see the
attraction to a life like that. But going without sex or even someone to curl
up to on the lounge would drive me insane.
“I missed the sex for maybe two years after I moved back
home,” Marc says. “After that, if I was feeling toey or felt like I needed to
talk with someone gay about gay stuff there was always the internet and there’s
never been a shortage of people there to either play out a fantasy with or talk
to about life and love.”
But does Marc ever start to fall in love with someone on
line, or vice-versa?
“They tend to run a mile when I tell them that the only way
it can work is by them moving to a farm in one of the coldest, most windswept,
most isolated places in Australia; where there is no espresso, no Myer and not
even a supermarket.”
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