Pride of Place

First things first, there is still need to fight for racial justice. Look into your local sheriff/police chief/whoever election, donate to bail funds, read minority voices. This will not go away because white people say they’ll do better and then forget about it.

Our learning link for the week is here. Not the most comprehensive description of microaggressions in the world but a handy introduction if you’re not familiar.


This Pride Month has been substantially different than I expected–first because pandemic, second because protests for justice (which, to be clear, I absolutely think are the thing to do right now, and all our liberation is tied up together) but I did want to have a time set aside specifically for this, for me.

June is a good time to think about the stories I tell regarding my sexuality and things. Stories I tell others, stories I tell about myself, stories I tell to myself. This past year or so has been interesting on that last front and I hope you’ll pardon me if I muse here about it for a while.

I feel like I’ve come a long way since coming out four-ish years ago, in terms of coming to be a part of a community. I have resources and relationships now that have brought me into a deeper understanding of myself, others, sexuality, faith, justice, intersectionality… you name it. There is a kind of belonging in that community that can’t be matched anywhere else because there’s a common bond that is unlike others I, at least, have ever experienced. But at the same time, I feel a bit like an outsider at times.

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Camaro doesn’t feel like an outsider

I guess part of what I’ve been trying to understand is how to be a part of a community while having a different story. Sometimes, minority communities can become very rigid in their definitions of self. That is, they have an identity that creates the community and, to preserve that community, adherence to that identity is sometimes overemphasized.

For a majority culture, that’s called assimilation. In some respects, it’s the same principle in operation though it takes on very different mechanisms and meanings when working on a sub-culture or minority group. But the message is mostly the same, in one way or another: your belonging here is dependent on you exhibiting the behaviors and attributes that we have deemed acceptable.

Sometimes, these are pretty overt things. Cultural referents or shared norms of socialization that can cause outrage when transgressed. Take, for example, two gay men talking. When one hears that the other has never seen High School Musical or something (it’s true that I’ve only seen parts myself), he exclaims jokingly, “I have revoked your gay card!” Like, it’s a joke but also very telling the way in which that joke it told. Again, your membership in this community is contingent. Fragile. It’s insidious, if you ask me.

That kind of stuff annoys me but generally, in the circles I move in, it’s not super prevalent and I do feel confident in people really not meaning it when it does occur. I try my best not to do anything like that but I do slip up from time to time. Forgive me those times. There are other things, subtle and totally unintentional, that do strike me a little harder, however.

In many conversations with friends in the queer Christian community, I am made aware of how different my experience of both those things has been than how I see sexuality and faith interact in most others. A recent example: talking about the difficulty of father’s day as many gay Christian men have a strained relationship with theirs. Or talking about the struggle of reconciling faith, the anguish of being closeted, the pain and fear of homophobia and rejection.

There is so much for me to learn from those friends. And I do strive to learn, and to comfort and to care as I am able. And I rejoice that those things can be healed, in part, by sharing with friends who understand. But there are questions that I ask in the silence of my mind. How do I relate? How do I listen? How do I make room for others but maintain space for myself? I feel it’s important to keep quiet in those times when I can’t really empathize, but when things that are really different from my life dominate conversations time and again, should I really be there at all? How can I participate without bragging or minimizing pain or seeming either preachy or self-centered?

The thing is, after all is said and done, that I do belong. I belong to those people in ways that I can’t explain to others. Those spaces are my spaces–not all the time, not for everything, but my voice is welcome there. It is a kind of fitting in that I have lacked in most all other environments I’ve been in and that is the kind of pride I want to celebrate today.

In the midst of all our current difficulties around community (the impossibility of gathering, the stress of life and events, the uncertainty of it all), I have been lucky enough to be welcomed into a group where I have pride of place. Not that I am most important but that I can show all of myself, all of my story, and know that I will be welcomed unconditionally. That’s Pride and, while we’re at it, that’s love.

This is Still News

I don’t really have anything further to say on the subject right now but I know it’s important to remind ourselves incessantly: black lives matter. We cannot let the luxury of forgetting afforded by our privilege overcome the momentum of this cultural moment.

My little addition to the education effort this week is this compilation of charts that helpfully illustrate in about as clear a manner as possible the systemic nature of white supremacy in the US. Education, law enforcement, finance, housing… And that source barely scratches the surface. But it’s a good place to start if you feel like you don’t completely understand how things currently stand.

Black people are still here. White supremacy is still here. Prejudicial systems are still here. Let’s do something.


I’ve been thinking about old growth forests. Because I love them, obviously, and because there’s really nothing we can do about all of the trees we’ve cut down. Centuries of growth, beauty, shade, pine cones, snuffed out so quickly. Individual trees and entire forests. Totally destroyed.

There are only two things to do: refrain from cutting down trees and plant new ones. Then just hope and pray that the centuries will be kind to the good you’ve tried to do.


Here is a small cat interlude.


I do want to spend a sec this week in celebration of a victory, something this year has largely been so stingy in bestowing. I have actual rights in this country!

There are so many things I could say about that but for today, I will settle for just this: never take privilege for granted. As the court has bestowed workplace protections upon LGBTQ people, so it could one day take them away. Jurisprudence is guidance, not law. And, further, no legislation is permanent. Rights are a delicate, fragile thing in any political system, regardless of what you think should be inalienable.

This is especially important to remember in our current times of protest. Given all the attention that has been paid recently to structures that circumvent the meaning of laws, the discrimination that belies legal equality, the attitudes that reflect deeply ingrained and typically subconscious white supremacy–with all that in mind, let’s recall that legal protections for women and people of color haven’t been around for ages and ages. They’re still pretty young.

And now this new category gets to count those rights as our own. And it will still take decades and decades for them to really be achieved. Centuries?

I just want you (straight, white, male) people to bear that in mind whenever you interface with minorities of any kind. Even if they are a ‘protected class,’ that was a fight that had to be fought legally and is still in progress socially. We have come so far but let’s be very real in admitting that we’ve got so far to go.

I know I said this was going to be a celebration and it’s ended up being a bit sad. I am truly very happy about this ruling which I didn’t not expect but I certainly didn’t expect, either. But let’s remember, to paraphrase a tweet I’ve seen a few times: if you’ve never had a court ruling (or a special law) tell you that you have the same rights as everyone else, you have privilege.

Story

Books about books is one of my favorite genres. I immediately feel an intimate kinship with the bibliophile main character, almost as though we’ve talked through many late nights together reveling in the power of stories. And I semi-secretly semi-suspect that all lovers of books semi-wish for miraculous, mysterious, magical things to happen to them because of their deep and loyal affection for books. I know I do, at least, and most book-centered stories I’ve read agree. We want the magic we know exists on the page to leap out and become manifest and tangible.

I read a fantastic book this past week. It’s a new book by Erin Morgenstern called The Starless Sea and I so enjoyed it. Ten out of ten would recommend to fantasy-minded book lovers and also anyone who can appreciate the interweaving of stories. A couple quotations and a moment of thinking about them.

Strange, isn’t it? To love a book. When the words in the pages become so precious that they feel like a part of your own history because they are.

There is a certain joy found in kindred spirits who have loved the same stories. With Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Narnia, and others, there is an enormous group of people with whom I share an immediate bond of a sort. At the very least, some conversational common ground. By the same token, how much more delightful is it to share a corner of my heart with another by discovering that we have treasured together a much more obscure title; relived the same scenes, adored the same characters, gazed upon the same landscapes in the mind’s eye.

I think the best stories feel like they’re still going, somewhere, out in story space.

This is at once the best and most difficult part of being a book lover. When I get invested in a story and/or characters, I always want more. Sometimes it’s because the story ends before all of my questions have been answered (which can be frustrating when done poorly but can be done well, too). Other times, it’s just because I’m so in love with the setting or the characters that I don’t care if the story is all wrapped up, I just want to hang out in that place with those people more. And so this makes me feel better, imaging the story ongoing, even after I’ve read every word.


There is a second reason I wanted to talk about stories this week. Last Thursday, I headed up to Seattle for the Reformation Project‘s Reconcile and Reform Conference. If you’re unfamiliar with the organization, they’re definitely worth checking out. In brief, they’re an organization that advances LGBTQ inclusion in the church and is particularly interested in the bible-stuff relating to that mission.

It was much smaller than the conference I went to in Chicago last January, through Q Christian Fellowship, and it was a lot more focused. The historical, social, political, linguistic, cultural foundations of many of the conversations the church is having (or not having) around this topic. Much of what was covered through the speakers and sessions was information that I was already familiar with but there was a great deal of new as well.

It’s been difficult to decide what I want my post about that conference to talk about because so much ground was covered. Every time I’d hear something that I wanted to share, I’d think about how I really wanted to do a whole post just on that particular thing. And, to be clear, I thought that for a whole host of things (maybe a series of posts in the future, we’ll see). But I really wanted to see if there was a way for me to kind of give a singular summary, or one particular thing that I want to highlight.

And so, having finished The Starless Sea and dwelling in that feeling for a little while, I decided to tell you about my experience through the lens of stories. In particular, three kinds of stories: those we tell ourselves, those we tell others, and those we hear from others. Just a couple thoughts for each. Distilling the conference is hard so we’ll just have to let be whatever word-vomit comes next.

First, the stories we tell ourselves. How does our interior monologue talk to us? Who do we think we are? Why do we treat ourselves the way we do? I know some people are uncomfortable with the idea but it says it right there–if we are to love our neighbors as ourselves, the implication is that we must love ourselves. If God loves each of us–completely, unconditionally–then so too ought we love ourselves. We are all of us flawed but we are also all of us inextricably bound up in bearing the image of God.

Second, us to others. By this, I mean two things: what we say to others about ourselves and what we tell say to others about themselves. For the former, I’d like to just focus on one thing, honesty and authenticity. Growing up in Christian circles, lots of people love to talk about authenticity. And if you want me to be authentic but don’t want me to marry a man in your church, that’s a big yikes. For the latter, unsurprisingly, is also about love. I mean, Jesus literally told us to love our enemies.

And third, the stories that we hear from others. Again, thinking about two aspects of this. Hearing and understanding and empathizing with queer stories changes things. When you learn about another’s life–their struggles and the ways in which you, personally or corporately, have been complicit in those struggles–it should change how you live your life. But you have to listen to people who don’t often get listened to. The corollary to that is, being intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually honest enough with ourselves to a) challenge what we hear and evaluate it for ourselves and b) know when we are wrong, apologize, and change. Because changing your mind happens sometimes when you genuinely seek the truth of a question.

I really feel like I’m not doing the conference (or the book, for that matter) justice but that’s what I have for the moment. I really do strongly urge you to read the book, if that’s your scene, and to investigate The Reformation Project whether it’s your scene or not. Much of the conference was recorded and you can watch parts on their Facebook page.

One final thought on stories, to conclude. As many have noted before, stories are powerful. They have their fingers in pretty much every pie of human existence including, importantly, faith. And because they are powerful, we must think about them critically, with our minds and our hearts.

Do not believe a story that has been told to you; believe a story that you have heard, evaluated, and lived in. We can all be a part of the great, ongoing story of love, reconciliation, and reformation.

Keep Us Star Gazing

We have come to it. There are a number of things that I have in my head to say for this, my final blog post in Michigan (at least, for the foreseeable future). But I’m not sure exactly how to say them. So I’ll just say some random stuff, quote the Muppets, and call it quits.

First and foremost, thank you to all my Michigan friends. This would have been a difficult year indeed without people as interested in Malta, as disgusted by delicious food, as committed to board games, as open-minded, as talented and compassionate, and as concerned with God’s voice (and so on and so forth) as you lot.

As my year in Korea came to a close, I said that sometimes the most important journeys are the ones that you didn’t mean to take. And, departing this apartment tomorrow, I think that continues to hold true. Glen Arbor, Michigan, was not a place I ever would have imagined myself calling home but here we are.

I have learned so much this year. From students, coworkers, friends, church, the place itself. Living in Michigan afforded me the opportunity to go to the Q Christian Conference in January, to road trip through three major Canadian cities, to see three Great Lakes and an overwhelming myriad of mediocre ones. Though unexpected, this journey has been rewarding indeed.

Before we get any further, I want to take a sec to have a little Pride moment. Because of my traveling and things this summer, I won’t be able to take part in any formal Pride celebrations but the month itself retains a special importance and I think this is a good day to reflect for a moment.

Yesterday was the third anniversary of the Pulse shooting which was unutterably devastating. It is so important to remember. And if I may deign to say anything at all about it, it is this: to those who contend that the queer community is a force of harm and destruction, come and see, the harm is done to us not by us. Please stop harming us by your actions and beliefs, your words hurt more than you can know.

Now hold onto your socks because we’re going to get real cheesy here.

In the midst of darkness, there is a mysterious light. After rain, rainbows. Hope is the thing that keeps me going, the thing that makes me look at the stars and dream. Sometimes, that dreaming comes at such a cost but still we look to the sky because we have caught glimpses that hearten us when we are downcast.

Whether along the unseen path of my own life or the course of nations and the hearts of peoples across the globe, I can envision a future that is brighter (and more colorful) than today. A future wherein love is love, and most everything else is love as well. A future in which none will grow weary of seeking good for one another because we recognize that the connection of our shared humanity is more important than any difference. A future of knowing others, being fully known, and loving all even so. I hope and pray that we strive for that future, together, without ceasing, neither forgetting the darkness nor fearing its unknown, radiant light.

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Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

The Start of My Modeling Career

Last May, I lost my longest Duolingo (Russian) streak after 74 consecutive days of practice. I was sad, and got over it quite quickly. But after I got over it, I continued to practice Russian on Duolingo. And today was my 432nd straight day.

I have very little personal discipline. It’s something that I’ve been aware of for a long time, and I’ve tried a number of things to try to work on that. In this moment, at least, I am very proud of my Duolingo streak.

My sister gets angry when I don’t post updates on the Arizona kitties, plus they are absolutely Very Very Cute. So here’s a picture of them being their cuddly,  yin-yang selves.

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Anyway, I promised to tell you about Michigan and what is happening (spoiler: I don’t know).

The school I’m living at is right on Lake Michigan, which is nice. It’s a quick walk from my door to the beach. And it is a very nice beach, very sandy and, well, beachy.

There’s also a large protected area right around the little town: the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. And by dunes, I learned, they really mean Dunes. Because they are very tall, very steep, and very deep. I hiked a couple miles through it (and hiking up and down steep sandy slopes is, like, Very Hard) and it took about an hour to get from the parking lot–viewing Glen Lake–to Lake Michigan. A lot of sand.

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Away from the dunes, I’m just here, getting through training to be a house parent to some freshman and sophomore boys. It’s a thing. The job mostly entails making sure disasters don’t happen and dealing with the small ones as they inevitably occur. The main thing is staying up very late.

It’s hard for me to give you more details than that at this juncture because I don’t really know. I know more than I did last week, so it’s probably for the best that I didn’t say much then. But the students don’t arrive until next Wednesday and school doesn’t start until the following Monday so it’ll be a sec before I really get a picture of what my life is going to look like for the rest of the year.

One major victory that I’ve already won is ensuring that I’ll have Sundays off, which will enable me to go to church. I visited one in Traverse City last week and it seems like a pretty cool place. It would be the first affirming church that I’ve attended and that has every possibility of being a game changer. I haven’t really thought of it as a huge issue for me, since none of the churches I’ve been to have been very overtly homophobic, but at the same time I think it’s going to be tremendously liberating.

Most of the ‘training’ this week has been kind of vision casting from our new Head of School, just talking about the point of the school and how we do things. A word that comes up in every sentence, it seems, is ‘model.’ If we want students to know this or have this value or understand this, how do we model it for them? And that’s something that I want to be really deliberate about. In particular, about sexuality insofar as I am able because it’s something that I have worked through myself and wish other people could have an easier time of it.

How do I model acceptance, not just of others but of self? How do I model self-care? How do I model environmental stewardship? How do I model empathy and compassion and kindness?

There are so many things to model. And I’ve thought about it before. But now it’s literally my job. So here’s hoping on that.

More Than This

Surprise! It’s Thursday (or is, at least, when this is published). This very much caught me off guard because I’ve lost track of the days in the short time I’ve been officially resident in Michigan. Because, guess what, I live in Michigan now. I really wanted to talk about the last part of my drive and first impressions but apparently it wasn’t to be.

Suffice to say, for the moment, that I have arrived safely, am settling into my school apartment, and things seem generally to be looking up. I feel like I have some valid feelings about things but 10/10 it all seems at the very least livable and twenty times better than Korea (though work training stuff doesn’t start until next week).

Ugh, there’s so much I wanted to say but because I try to post these at mostly the same time, even being in the eastern time zone I’m running late today. Luckily (or not, I’ll let you be the judge), I have something that’s been hanging out in my drafts for a sec. It’s long-ish, thoughtful, maybe controversial, and I’m not sure that a) I express myself well or b) I know exactly what I’m trying to express. But it’s a thing so here you go. Good luck.

I was reading an article about Queer Eye a while ago (because how else was I, a temporarily unemployed gay man, supposed to spend my time). I didn’t agree with everything that was said but overall it was quite remarkable, chock full of immensely insightful and quotable lines. One particular bit really shouted at me and I’ve continued to think about it. The author had been talking about comfort zones for different groups of people, and how it felt to live your life entirely outside of the majority’s zone. She said,

Many political roadblocks would be more navigable if the general public did not so often mistake their comfort zone for the moral high ground.

What would it be like to consider for a moment, not only that your way of life isn’t the only one, not only that it may not be the best one, but that it may not even be a good one? To realize that other people’s perspectives have more than just heartwarming value-added witticisms but an entirely new and sometimes better way of doing things? I want to challenge you, even as I strive to challenge myself, to simply be mindful of the thoughts we have and the decisions we make and the reasons we make them.

What have you done lately to listen to someone very different from yourself? Have you critically evaluated your worldview, tested its assumptions, and investigated alternatives? Do you believe that you are living by the best possible system of values? If you believe that your values are the best, how closely do you adhere to them–in deed and not just in word? When you are confronted with someone living outside of your comfort zone, are you willing to consider their actions and motives in a generous, loving, compassionate way?

I have two thoughts about this, the first has been clear to me but the second has taken more time for me to really recognize. First, learning from the lives of oppressed people helps those people secure themselves in a society where they were previously marginalized. For example, as LGBTQ+ people become more accepted, they can live out of the closet more comfortably (there’s a lot to this but you get the gist I’m going for, I hope).

The second, though, isn’t about the marginalized group at all. When you learn about other ways of life, you’ll inevitably encounter some things that strike you as better than what you’re doing. You come to identify the harmful and oppressive mechanisms in your own system that you had previously not noticed because you were simply accustomed to them. For example, the more straight cis people engage with not-straight and not-cis people, the more clearly they can see the hurt done by cleaving to strict and unattainable standards for gendered behavior.

When you willingly relinquish the power that comes from living in the comfort zone of the majority, you will learn–I hope–that sometimes the seaweed is actually greener in somebody else’s lake. Giving up your privilege and power doesn’t mean you become oppressed, it just means you take a step toward the place where the rest of us live–outside a comfort zone that we didn’t construct. As someone who still resides in a multitude of privileges, I can only tell you this about stepping out: finding that you have more to learn about living a good life is scary but also invigorating. The status quo isn’t as good as it gets. There is more than this life you’re living.

Listen. Be open. Learn. Mostly, love.

Finale of Seem

There is a poem by Wallace Stevens, The Emperor of Ice-Cream, that I memorized during a poetry course at university. The message of the poem, in general, borders on hedonistic with its encouragement to enjoy life while one can. I wouldn’t consider myself a hedonist in really any sense so the poem sits a little awkwardly with me though I thoroughly enjoy it.

There is one line that came to me as precisely appropriate for this week. The narrator commands us: “Let be be finale of seem.” We are urged to let reality shine through illusion; to truly be who we are and relinquish, as much as we are able, the seem in our lives.

In preparation for Seattle Pride on Sunday, I finally got around to binging Queer Eye on Netflix. I knew, through the grapevine, that I had to get through at least the whole first season and the first episode of season two so that was what I did last Saturday (I have since finished season 2). And I was not disappointed.

The show is not at all my style. Though I have no qualms about watching awful television, my tastes strictly exclude reality TV of any sort. But I thought I’d make an exception for this, seeing as I still haven’t seen any Drag Race (my gay culture now is a strong desire for Antoni). The show is indeed worth a watch and I’m glad I got around to it.

Though not every episode made me tear up, it is consistently not about superficiality or selfishness or vanity (though it’s hard to avoid them altogether). It is about learning to love yourself, to value yourself, and let that then pour out of you into others.

Anyway. I did go to Pride and let me tell you, I was not adequately prepared by the Korean Queer Culture Festival last year. I brought my Korean/French rainbow fan from last year (it being the only rainbow thing I own) and met up with a friend who lives in Seattle. I also happened to run into a couple other friends by chance, which was fun.

Here’s the thing: I am no longer in the closet; I have no problem reconciling my faith and sexuality. Even so, there are plenty of moments of fear and anxiety. Times when I’m not sure how someone will react to something I’ve done (for example, getting a manicure and having rainbow nails) or something just feels awkward and you let it slide (for example, if someone asks whether I have a girlfriend, I typically answer ‘no’ instead of ‘I’m gay’).

Pride is what gives a time of freedom from that. Some people use that freedom to bicycle naked in a parade, which… you do you. For me, I just stand there, sometimes smiling wildly, feeling all fluttery when I see people holding hands.

Honestly, the parade wasn’t that interesting. I don’t know if it’s possible for me to be that interested in a parade of any kind. But the pride, the Pride, was what I came for and what I felt. What I feel. It’s less about what happens and more that it happens. Less an event and more a feeling. A collective sloughing off of seeming, if you will.

Someone put it this way, loosely: sometimes, pride is the opposite of humility but sometimes, it’s the opposite of shame. And that latter is worth celebrating.

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추석 (or: A holiday that I don’t feel and important feelings that I do)

It’s impossible for a city with an eight digit population to empty, but the feeling in Seoul during Chuseok (that’s choo-sock) is probably about as close to that as you can get, I figure. As I understand it, things have gotten more relaxed about the holiday of late but even still, and even in Seoul, things are closed and people are gone. There are still millions of people out and about, obviously, but I’d say the majority of businesses outside of like convenience stores are closed. Biggest travel time of the year, it seems, which is in line with the general comparisons to Thanksgiving.

I haven’t talked to loads of Koreans about it, so I can’t say exactly how it’s felt here for actual Korean people. Traditionally, Chuseok is a harvest time festival where you go to your home village and do some ancestor honoring. These days, I think it’s more just a visit family and eat kind of day, though I’m sure there’s plenty of ancestor-related things that still go on. It strikes me as sort of a straightforward family holiday but with none of the special holiday season feeling that I associate with Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Gift boxes also seem incredibly popular as gifts to give. Including, if my grocery store is anything to go by, a great deal of Spam gift sets. Which. Hm. We talked about it in class and one of my students just really loves Spam and it kind of hurt me inside but it gave me an excuse to show them the Spam song from Monty Python so everything happens for a reason, I guess.

Anyway, I have some time off! It is of no moment that I had to make up most of this time off and the rest is coming out of my vacation time. Tuesday after work (we blessedly received an extra half day), some of us went out for tacos and churros which were excellent. On Wednesday, I just walked down to the river for a little picnic and reading session. Today, I met a friend for breakfast at a fancy and delicious buffet. Tomorrow, I will go to Incheon because I miss the ocean. And on Saturday, I’m going on a hike with friends. Yay holidays that I don’t celebrate so I can spend time doing whatever I want!

The strange part is having a holiday that doesn’t move you an inch take hold of the whole country around you. Another aspect of being a minority that I’ve never had to experience and a small dose of empathy for the religious and other holiday diversity (especially since I won’t get holidays I do care about off). I think I’ve intimated here more than once how strongly I feel about Thanksgiving and Christmas.

In other Keegan news, today marks the 103rd straight day I’ve done Duolingo and I’m so pleased with myself. I don’t do much each day but hey. My Russian hasn’t totally faded into random words and terrible grammar like my German has. So I’m feeling good about that small, easy piece of self-discipline in my life.

With that, I’d like to turn to something else. I’ve let this blog see some pretty personal things in my life and it’s not a trend I feel able or willing to reverse.

So a couple months ago I wrote a post called Learning to be Proud because I was learning to be proud. But this week I think I was finally taught my first real lesson. Well, second. But. Obviously, the lesson came in the midst of a book because books are powerful.

There are so many people around the world who feel wrong and broken and hurt and confused and scared and worthless because of who they are. People who have been told or even come to believe that their inmost heart of hearts is something disgusting, sinful, and shameful. I am so proud to be gay because being proud is what it takes to refute that. Being proud is what it takes to justify our existence, the simple fact of our lives. Being proud means that I assert my worth as a human being. Being proud means that even when well-intentioned people think, at best, that I’m mistaken or making a poor choice I can say that who I am is who I was made to be.

I had no obstacles to coming out save an irrational and labyrinthine thought process that took me probably a decade to unravel. For many, their obstacles are much more tangible and damaging. I cry big, hot tears for everyone who hurts because of their sexuality or gender identity. I love you. You do not have to justify or explain yourself to me. You are real and valid and valuable and not to be ignored.

I love you I love you I love you.