I’m back.

I had such a wonderful weekend at UVA. On Saturday it was hot and sunny. I got color on my face and sunburn on my neck.

It was the 10th anniversary of AVP, the Academical Village People. It was our Decademical. I saw lots of old friends. We reminisced. We ate. We rehearsed. And we alumni all got up on stage and sang — first with the current group and then by ourselves. We sang Aerosmith’s “Angel.” “Billie Jean.” The Back Street Boys’ “Everybody.” “Footloose.” It was a blast.

And I’ve come back a different person.

Or, rather, I’ve reconnected with a long-lost part of myself.

I’ve re-learned things.

One, I’ve remembered how much I loved being part of a brotherhood.

Our weekend festivities ended yesterday with a brunch. About 40 guys — most of the 15 current members, and a majority of the alums who hadn’t already left to catch flights or whatnot — sat in chairs in a circle, and each of us had a few minutes to talk about himself and his memories of the group. I laughed harder than I’d laughed in a long time. I laughed so hard that tears came into my eyes.

And then — two hours later, after we’d all spoken — we all stood up, put our arms around each other, and sang a slow 40s-style barbershoppy song called “Softly.” As I sang, I looked around the circle at all these guys, all of us, singing together. And tears came into my eyes again.

And there are SO many cute guys in the group now.

But — sex seems so foreign. Singing with these guys, with my brothers-in-song, performing with them, just being with them — it was so much better than sex. It was more real. It was more me.

And now I know why it took me so long to come out of the closet. It’s because for so long, being part of a brotherhood was enough for me. It was what I wanted — what I’d always wanted: to be one of the guys. And I was one of them. And they accepted me.

And I wanted so much to be one of them, I wanted so much to be like them, that I hid my difference.

It’s so much easier to be part of a group of guys than to be part of a couple. It’s so much easier to lust after them and not actually have to do anything about it. And it’s so much easier to be the same as everyone else, to be accepted.

It’s so hard to be different when all you want is to be one of the guys.

And there’s another thing I re-learned.

I’d forgotten how much I love to sing. But not just singing. I’d forgotten how much I love to bust out and perform. To rock with nothing but your voice. To express yourself. To expend energy and be artistic not just in an introverted way, which is what writing is, but in an extroverted way, which is what singing and performing are. There’s nothing like it. It’s been so long.

I love to perform. I get a visceral pleasure from it. I did it in high school, I did it in college, I did some of it in law school. I want to do it again.

But I think I’m living in the wrong place. I couldn’t make it as a performer in New York, could I? I couldn’t possibly. This place is too big.

I’m daydreaming now — it’s just a daydream — but I’m daydreaming of moving to a smaller town, someplace quieter, slower, less expensive, someplace with less competition, someplace where I could have a solid group of friends. Maybe live with a bunch of them, or at least live in the same building. Instead of being alone all the time. I don’t want to have to take the PATH train anytime I want to hang out with someone. I don’t want to live in a place where everyone is so busy all the time.

So, I want to perform again.

And I want to be part of a brotherhood again.

I want to live a life where I’m so busy with things that I enjoy, where I’m so busy doing things that fulfill me, that I don’t have time to think about things that don’t matter.

Everything was so much more real back then. Everything was so much more emotionally real back then.

I need to be that guy again.

I need to be me again.

I’m back.