When I came out as gay 6 years ago, it was not a consciously political decision. I was not concerned with power or progress or social policy, and I was not looking to change minds. I just had 20 years of longing and desire building up inside of me, and the longer I kept it hidden--from myself and from everyone--the more it became fear and anxiety. The more all the beautiful things I dreamed for myself became ugly and contaminated. And I wanted those beautiful things.
I was trembling when I told my best friend Sam over labor day weekend. I didn't really fear rejection-- not from her-- I just knew that when I said the words out loud, that it would all suddenly be real. That I would actually be a gay man, living a "gay" life, pursuing a "gay" future. And I didn't know what that would mean, but I knew I couldn't keep avoiding it.
And the opening of that door absolutely did breathe life into my sexuality, my identity, my romance. I grew less and less afraid, more willing to explore, more confident and celebratory of my feelings and wants. My cryptic poetry grew less cryptic, and my hushed, ambiguous conversations online became open flirtation, gay-friendly events, and eventually sex, dates, boyfriends, romance, love. I walked into myself and my future and the things that have become the most important to me.
Over the next few months after telling Sam, I had dozens of coming outs. But they became less and less about me and more and more about logistics. I couldn't not tell my college friends because it would be exhausting to keep my romantic and sexual life from them, and they'd feel pissy and betrayed if they didn't know. I had to tell my family because eventually I would want to bring a boy home, and I might get some weird looks if they saw me grabbing my "good friend's" ass or stealing a kiss from him in my parent's basement. And wouldn't I have a better chance of finding an eligible gay boy in rural Missouri if I shared that I like men on Facebook? Guess I better tell a bunch of people beforehand, then I'll just have social media out me to everyone else-- no more wasting time retelling my "here-and-queer" testimonial to every friend I encountered!
And for the better part of a year, coming out was simply a practical, tactical decision for simplifying my social and personal life. But my tone is getting a little cavalier here-- there was, certainly, considerable fear and personal struggle. For every friend I was confident I could tell nonchalantly--or at least in a "I-know-that-you're-cool-with-this-but-I-thought-you-deserved-to-know" way--there was that person you thought would shut you out of their lives forever. Your father. Your brothers. Your friends back home. Your friends from church. I mean, you bring yourself to them with the simple wish in your heart that they will tolerate who you are. You tell them about all this love in your life you're finally discovering, and you hope that they won't be disgusted by you, won't hate you, won't wish to erase you. And I guess that comes from a fear that maybe you were wrong about how beautiful this thing is; maybe it is contaminated and ugly; maybe you have reason to be afraid.
But you tell them. You tell them because it makes sense. Or because you need to. Or because it's simply who you fucking are. And some of them are disgusted and full of hate. And some of them can only respond with their tolerance. Yet, over time, something immensely power-filled happens. You not only become more yourself, but you learn that you have the capacity to change people and how they see the world, simply by being who you are. Literally scores of people in my life have told me they learned to accept and celebrate homosexuality because of me, because of seeing and knowing who I am and how I love. And when those people start to question their beliefs about homosexuality, they start to question any of a number of their personal politics: their views on women, on minorities, on vulnerable populations. And those changed minds become votes and voices that stand with people who need someone to stand with them, and they become hands on your shoulder when you need them most. It's amazing to know that I am able to help create the world that I want to live in-- where everyone is treated with love and respect-- just because I was brave enough to be myself, just because I've tried to live a good and authentic life, and because I said "Hey, btw, I love dick, and one day, I'm going to fall in love with a man, and maybe we'll get married and maybe we'll have a kid. And, I don't know, maybe we won't, but we'll still have love and each other. (And dick!)" It was that simple. It is that simple.
What's funny is I started writing this post in response to some recent conversations, movies and plays I've seen, and this plea and reminder from Don Lemon, about the political efficacy and relevance of coming out. I am often one of those over-it, worn out, "who cares?" people who rolls my eyes at every celebrity outing. And I do think that the cultural climate for much-- DEFINITELY not all--of the country has reached a point where public coming out can be quieter and revealed simply through a pronoun, dropping the word boyfriend or partner, or just walking outside and holding hands with the person you love... I don't know that it's necessary to always portray homosexuality as this thing that has to be revealed to the world, as some sort of apologia statement, as something to 'fess up to. But I do, for all the reasons I've listed here, think there is tremendous social and political power in being yourself and not being ashamed. I think we open and change people's minds. I think we create spaces for other people to be and share themselves. I think we create a safer, more just, more equitable world when we exist on the streets rather than in the closet. So, yes, politically, I do think that coming out and being out matters and that it's a way I can vote and protest and campaign with my body every day.
But like any writing worth doing, this post became nothing I intended it to be and it revealed the path ahead for 2014 that I need to be following. You see, 2013 was largely a year of shame, fear, and anxiety for me. Somewhere along the line, I got the message that I needed to hide and doubt and hate so many things about myself. 2013 was the year of not being smart enough, funny enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, interesting enough, talented enough, anything enough. 2013 was the year of not deserving a future or love. It was the year where I held in all the beautiful things and convinced myself that they were ugly and contaminated.
And I've been afraid to see and to share myself or my dreams out of fear that they're inadequate but perhaps more so out of fear that once I speak them out loud, they will be real, and I'll start becoming them. And how fucking terrifying is it to become who you are and what you're meant to be when you're not really sure who that is yet?
But 2014 is going to be my year of pride. My year without shame. Because I'm prepared to--and I need to-- become "less and less afraid, more willing to explore, more confident and celebratory of my feelings and wants." Because it's what the people I love deserve and it's what I deserve.
And I want to remember the tremendous power that comes from being and sharing yourself. That you become stronger in who you are and ignite revolutions in the minds of the people you love and encounter. If I've stirred the pot that much just by telling people "I like dick," imagine what I might be able to do if I share something more profound and personal.
So no more shame. No more trying to pass as whatever I assume people want me to be. And no more self-loathing and self-abuse over being myself, this beautiful thing, this more-than-enough. Cause I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm a lot of other shit, too, and some of it may be able to transform you.
And fuck anyone who responds to who I am with hate, disgust, erasure, or half-hearted tolerance. And bless all of you who love and nurture me on the journey.
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