[Last time I posted this, a friend commented “Well written, I am going on 2 years of celibacy. The thoughts expressed in this post are similar to mine. First time I’ve seen anyone write something along the same line. Thanks for sharing.” I believe others who have chosen a celibate existence need to know they aren’t alone.]

I’ve been celibate since 2011, and the further I get from sex, the better I understand love.

It was a choice I made when I got off drugs and a choice I make still today, “celibating” my 11th year.

Not much is written about celibacy. In this sexually-slathered world, it’s not a very popular subject. It alienates, labels and renders one less than desirable by many who still regard sex as a plaything —an inalienable right to exercise freely, frequently, and with anyone they choose without much regard for its significance or consequence beyond being a driven, primal, self-indulgent pleasure.

To be honest, I’ve had more sexual partners in my lifetime than I care to remember. Many I choose not to remember, most I can’t, and in hindsight, all I regret except for the union of love that produced my three wonderful children. And that was many, many years ago.

There’s a huge difference between mere resistance to sexual temptation and a conscious choice of celibacy. The first one spends hours fending off attacks of urges while the other refuses to wage the war. One is a choice to be in constant turmoil while the other is a constant choice of dignity and self preservation. No engagement. No frustration. Little preoccupation with momentary pleasures.

Most men find it an incomprehensible option to be celibate. Culture has made great strides over recent decades not only to make open, multi-partnered sexuality the “normal” way of life and to banish or render odd those who believe and choose differently.

Imagine, if you can, the amount of sitcom time spent on the subject of sex. Imagine the number of stories and exposés about the sexual foibles of otherwise good men and women. Imagine the volume of time, the countless pages, the vastness of entire industries spent on sexual pursuits and libido-lifting messages, telling us it’s just as healthy a way to stay in shape as aerobic exercise. No, it’s not your imagination. Since the 60s, it’s reality. Truth is, sex has become the replacement of an important need by an urgent one.

I don’t watch much TV, largely because of its stupidifying effect on the masses. I do watch movies though. Lots of movies. And even there, I see how unentertaining most plot lines might be without the sex factor. The general malaise about and lack of creativity within media is largely due to the potency of the sex factor able to arouse and stimulate single-minded misled people climaxing in applause for an on screen violation of what might have otherwise been a potentially creative story. But with sex shoved down the throats of the masses (pun partially intended) as if we were all malnourished hookers, we’ve learned to hunger for it like the rush of a smoking bowl of meth.

As a social consolation, those who promote free sexuality have successfully fended off attacks by seasoning their stimulating appeals with “love, romance and intimacy” as if to give added value to what they are really selling. Eroticism is now much wider in its appeal, equating being sexual with someone—or anyone for that matter—quite the “special” thing. Special with this one, special with that one, and each special encounter so meaningful in its own way.

But sex is not the highest form of love. Not by a long shot.

Humanity’s lie has been to suggest that sexual union with another is the most intimate expression of love in the world. As a celibate man, I believe nothing could be further from the truth.

To obey the greatest commandment to love one another is a far cry from indulging in a passionate roll in the hay with them. Loving acts have staying power while sex quickly goes…well…flaccid.

Celibacy creates a vacuum for eminently more important things.

The years I have spent without losing small pieces of my soul to random sexual partners has opened my eyes to greater forms of love I might have otherwise never known existed. When I stopped seeking pleasure, a vacuum was created inside of me and I began seeking to fill it with true love. Not a person. Not another. Love.

Big difference.

Storge, philia, agape. Go ahead. Look them up. Affection, friendship, unconditional love. These alternate kinds of love always get the shaft from sex promoters, yet they are the kinds of love expressions that make you cry at commercials, weep at songs and experience the joy of the spirit of a sports team with an incredibly moving back story. They are the kinds of loves you remember over and over again, long after that casual fling left your bed for home.

Perhaps one day I’ll rediscover that eros kind of love again and my celibate days will be over. But I’ve found that my freed mind is now capable of deep thought that births deeper experiences of love and compassion and a preoccupation with things that last much longer than an orgasmic minute. And when I do find it, I’ll have learned to respect it with much more dignity than I ever did before.

And if I never do, I will nonetheless have learned to love as a celibate man, and by then I should be a pretty good at it, because the further I get from sex, the better I understand love.

A young man was commuting to all the departments around the store to say his goodbyes and to share what he’d learned from the particularly seasoned adults who’d taken him under wing while he was employed there. It was his last day before moving to Texas for college. While shopping, it happened I was close enough to hear a few of these encounters, each of which had brought his coworkers to tears. His sincerely thankful spirit was so overwhelming, even listening from a distance, I got a lump in my throat at how he articulated specific fond memories of their work together. He left his trail of gratitude behind from hardware to appliances to gardening. I learned a few things myself yesterday:-Renewed hope in today’s youth. -Home Depot’s incalculable loss. -Somewhere in Texas, this boy is gonna change a lotta lives.-I’d like to meet his parents.

I’m neither a poor man, nor a man of wealth, but as I feel this gripping economic pinch becoming a grope, surely poorer earners are all but asphyxiated by the inflationary prices of everything. I see it in senior clients down to one meal a day, pawning possessions to pay monthly rent increases, working families using up savings and losing financial ground faster than they can make it up. Everyone is cutting here and there but can only do it so long until price increases compound and there’s nothing left to cut anymore. More people are homeless now than ever before, most for the first time ever. In my job, the stories arrive firsthand at our door and we help in all ways we are able, but for many, it’s not enough to preserve even the most basic of human rights and needs. Anxiety, depression and mental health problems create fertile grounds for reemerging addictions and ways of coping that offer no hope whatsoever. Some things need to change and soon. Use your vote for change.While Rome was burning, Nero was merely an impulsive tyrant home in his villa doing nothing.That’s not an option anymore.

Having a serious medical disorder isn’t always apparent to others because of how hard you must work to compensate for the symptoms and appear normal. They don’t see the private sufferings and painful episodes you hide from public eyes or know how hard it eventually becomes to hold both the symptoms and yourself all together. The more difficult it is to manage moving parts of a disease, the simpler it becomes to just decline invitations and offer creative reasons for why you stayed home. Your world gets smaller through clever excuses and normal is an all too formidable and lesser goal.The whole syndrome plays over and over, worsening for years on repeat until you, yourself, begin believing the lie that this is actually what spending your best life is supposed to be: a big inauthentic outward smile to mask the inward grimacing. It’s not living your best life.It’s just trying to appear to be living while you’re actually dying inside.

His entire existence is an utter void of understanding the comings, goings and absences of his only love apart from that moment.

To him, no explanation of time exists gazing out the window for hours on end.

His only hope is a vague awareness that routine of a return exists somewhere in the future.

So on that promise, he remains forever vigilant and alert for that first familiar sound or sign: a key in the door, that affirms his hope and turns it into a wildly wagging tail.

Leave it to me to experience something so ordinary yet so awesome…

When Dr. Woods, the cardiothoracic surgeon, came out with the good news about mom’s open heart surgery, I found myself staring, entranced with his hands, while listening to his family report.

All I could think of as he concluded and left was that I had just shaken the hand which, minutes before, had held the very heartbeat of the woman who had made mine and touched it so many times since.

Those who know me know I never use the word awesome unless something truly is. The news was great today, but staring at the hands of a surgeon who had touched her fleshly heart then shook my hand with it minutes later was truly an awesome and unforgettable few moments.

The young kid who works the night shift where I get my 430 coffee each morning asked about my name badge: “So what exactly do you do every day?” I replied “In a nutshell, we keep people housed and fed with the lights on.” He said it sounded like a cool job. Not to miss the teaching moment, I asked in return, “So what exactly is it you do every day?” Puzzled at my question, he paused, then replied “Well, I serve coffee, snacks and things people need to get through the day and I try to keep people happy.” As I walked out, we both smiled as he realized, probably for the first time ever, that we are essentially in the same business.I hope he never looks at his job the same way again.

Consider each new morning an open seat at a poker table. Your deal is determined by a shuffle, so accept what’s handed you with grace and the understanding that winning or losing is largely up to you. Don’t cheat, don’t count, use your best skills. Life’s not entirely a game of chance, but when it’s over the best of us smile and tip the Dealer for the chances you were given, departing the table a very rich man to begin anew tomorrow.

By anyone’s count, he was seven times older but never once left her side. He was her warmth, her comfort, and the one with whom she cuddled each night and awoke to each morning. She prepared their meals and they took walks both mornings and evenings while she reminisced about the days when they were younger souls on longer journeys. Her companion and protector, together 15 years without so much as an argument, they were indeed best friends until last week when he curled up at her side never to wake again.

Lives may pass but loneliness isn’t quite as lonely when you’re old and have enjoyed a lifetime of love and loyalty with a dog.