A friend snapped this picture a few days before my 37th birthday last month, and I just got it by email today. It's funny, but life at 37 is much different from what I expected when I was 17 or 27. I never would have guessed then that I would be living in New York as a self-employed writer and lecturer. At 17, I expected to be married with children by now. At 27, I expected to be, well, married (to a man), without children by now.

A lot of young people worry about being alone and lonely in their late thirties and forties and up. I've never worried about this. Being in a relationship in your twenties and thirties is no guarantee you'll still be together in your forties or fifties. People change, grow apart, and die. That's a natural part of life. Fear of a lonely future seems a horrible reason to enter into a relationship, or to remain in one that doesn't work anymore.

As Whitney sings, "I'd rather be alone than unhappy." I'm almost 40 and I'm single. But most importantly, I'm very happy with my life, career, friends and family. So many black men don't live to see their 37th birthday, so I am grateful that I've come this far, and I look forward to the next 37 years.

I'm almost finished reading Ellis Cose's new book, The Envy of the World: On Being A Black Man in America, and the book reminds me why it's so important that more black men exercise leadership in our community. With increasing numbers of black men incarcerated, undereducated and dying too young, we owe it to each other and ourselves to take care of ourselves.

I was surprised at the swift response I received yesterday after I wrote here that relationships are not for everyone. One reader wrote, "you said you were happily single or not looking for a relationship. I think there is more to this. I wonder if that is just denial, because of your not being older yet or because you still like to get attention with your muscles."

The reader, a black gay man, suggested that relationships are mature and implied that those who do not enter or seek relationships are immature. I disagree. With 6 billion people on the planet, I find it hard to believe that every one of us wants exactly the same thing.

For all their value in creating stability, family, and community, relationships are not for everyone. This doesn't mean those who don't want relationships are unstable, anti-family or anti-community. It does mean there are other ways for people to express themselves or promote their own stability, family and community.

But don't say this to a "self-respecting black gay man." From my experience, black gay men can be awfully conservative sometimes. I first realized this in 1994 when I began participating in black gay men's discussion groups. To play devil's advocate, I would often question the "perfect" responses that participants gave to each other.

When asked what type of man they were looking for, everyone always said they wanted someone who is caring and intelligent and sensitive. But when you looked at the men they dated, they sought out someone who was attractive and sexy with a nice body or a big dick. Of course it's difficult to forge a relationship based solely on sexual attraction, but why shouldn't we admit that we choose our partners based, in part, on this factor?

When I began my "ideal man" description with his physical characteristics first, everyone jumped on me for being shallow and superficial. The truth is, I wouldn't marry someone simply because they're cute. But nor would I marry someone who I do not think is cute. If that makes me shallow, then at least I'll be happy.

Later, when I mentioned the possibility of having an open relationship, everyone jumped on my case for that too. Although I've never had an open relationship, I'm not necessarily opposed to one under the right circumstances. A lot of people who say they would never have an open relationship end up creating one unilaterally by violating the terms of their agreement and seeking sex outside. Which is better — an open relationship or a cheating one?

It's understandable that a group of people who are often disenfranchised for their sexuality would want to be a part of the social norm. But why would black gay men be so critical of those who dare to stray from the norm? The traditional model of monogamous, committed relationships may not work for everyone, and black gay men, of all people, should understand that. After all, isn't the LGBT movement itself a call for greater sexual liberation?

Yesterday a friend and I talked on the phone about the Roxy nightclub in New York. I've never been there before, but my friend tells me the mostly white crowd includes a lot of guys who routinely take off their shirts when they dance. The atmosphere is totally different from New York's black dance clubs, such as The Brooklyn Cafe or The Warehouse, where black men are loathe to disrobe in these public spaces.

When I've taken off my shirt in some black clubs, I've been criticized by those who thought it was inappropriate. At one club in Cleveland, the management actually told me to put my shirt back on. Why do we, who are very sexual creatures, have such issues about taking off our shirts at a dance club? Is it because we see it as a "white gay thing"? I'm not sure.

Anyway, last night I had a refreshingly new experience with black gay men. I convinced a group of friends to join me at The Works bar in the Upper West Side for their monthly wrestling night. The eight black men who joined me were the only black people in the crowd. I convinced three of my friends to wrestle with me, including one who wrestled in an oil match. I've been a loyal fan of the wrestling club for almost a year, and never has there been so much black action on the mat.

We had a great time, but it took a lot for us to wrestle in public. For me, it was an expression of my own freedom to live my life more openly without fear of shame or embarrassment. As Marianne Williamson has written (in a statement often mistakenly attributed to Nelson Mandela), "As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

© Copyright 2002 by Keith Boykin.