In Defense of My Liberal Elitism

In the wake of the President-Elect's victory last November, I have seen a slough of newspaper articles all talking about how the Democrats and Hillary Clinton could have lost what should have been an in-the-bag election. Discussions ranged from too much focus on social issues (racism, abortion, LGBT+ rights) over jobs to blaming FBI Director Comey for bringing Clinton's emails back into the spotlight yet again. As the initial furor over Mr. Trump's victory died down, a consistent theme started to emerge.

Democrats were out of touch.

The party had become the party of the coastal elites: the liberal Hollywood stars, the liberal Oregon hipsters, and the liberal New York Broadway snobs. Because they focused on making sure transgender Americans were treated just like every other American when it comes to where they pee, they had lost touch with the farmer out in the middle of nowhere Nebraska, the factory worker in Pennsylvania who had lost his job, and the religious Christian who was worried about God's judgments pouring out onto this land of sinners. Democrats had ignored the "real Americans;" thus, they lost to the only candidate representing them.

Putting aside that I think Mr. Trump represents no one but himself, regardless of who voted for him, I think saying that Democrats ignored "real Americans" is a bit much. Hillary Clinton mentioned "jobs" more than literally anything else on the campaign trail, over any of the social issues Democrats are accused of focusing on too much. And that is apparently what "real Americans" care about, not this wishy-washy social justice stuff. That's what elites care about.

Well, I care about those things, so I must be a liberal elite. Therefore, in defense of my Liberal Elitism, I present to you the following counter-arguments:

1) Identity politics isn't a bad thing. Politics is all about individuals and groups coming together and working out how to get something without giving a whole lot of something else. While that unfortunately sounds like the mantra of the Tea Party and extreme leftists, that's what politics ultimately boils down to. Identity politics is just politics with a group name.

Additionally, it's not just a tactic employed by the left. The right does this, too. Just look at Evangelical Christians as a voting bloc and try to tell me they aren't practicing identity politics. I'll wait.

2) I live in a place where these social justice issues are real. Democrats speak out about racial and social injustices because they see them happening where they are living. When they speak about racist police policies, it's because they have seen them. When they talk about LGBT+ issues, it's because they've seen them. Just because you live in a small, rural town without black people doesn't mean racism isn't a thing.

3) A lack of political correctness is not admirable. Donald Trump may be refreshing to some for his blatant lack of PC speech, but in that lack he represents just about every vile and reprehensible thing American society has been trying to eliminate for decades. From his lack of political correctness, a brief list of applicable adjectives: misogynist, racist, homophobic (admittedly more Mr. Pence, but he picked Pence, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ), xenophobic, narcissist, etc. Additionally, he is a bald-faced liar on just about every topic, and bullies those who challenge him (just ask any reporter who has voiced any sort of contrary or negative question).

4) Climate change is real. Scientists are not lying to you. Almost all of them agree. And while it is important that everyone's voice is heard, the evidence is just too overwhelming. It's not a hoax by the Chinese. It's not a ploy to make you by an electric car. It's people caring about the only livable planet in the entirety of space that we can currently reach.

5) There is no "Real America." Jon Stewart said it best, but it's worth saying again: There is no "Real America." At least, not in the way the pundits talk about it on Fox News (not to mention the trash that is Breitbart). Real America is not just rural, white America. It's also inner-city black America. It's gayborhood LGBT+ America. It's Southwestern Latino America. It's new immigrant Asian America. It's far-flung refugee Syrian America.

Do you get it yet? Real America is all of us, not just one particular group. And just in case you need a vocabulary lesson, the word "all" includes everyone. If you can think of a type of person that doesn't fit into "everyone," let me know so I can tweet it at Merriam Webster for a definition change.

6) My elitism makes me better. My last point is that my liberal elitism makes me a better person. It teaches me to care about others and their situations. My goals, desires, and needs aren't more important than yours just because they're not the same. But they are still problems, and they need to be addressed. We need the conversations that Democrats and Hillary Clinton were having just as much as we need to talk about the problems facing those that live in the rural parts of the country.

Ultimately, my liberal elitism teaches me to strive for an America for everyone. Sure, it means that I may highlight my LGBT+ concerns over those of a rural farmer's, but I understand that my problems aren't more important. They're just mine. I don't know enough about farming to even pretend like I know what problems that entails. I'm willing to ask, though.


If Democrats are guilty of anything this election, it's not telling everyone that we hear them. We do. We just understand that there are more problems than those faced by rural America, and so we talk about them. And because we tend to congregate on the coasts, we don't experience the same problems. So we maybe highlight those problems more than others. That doesn't make us any less American. It just makes us different, which isn't a bad thing.

Day 2 of the Trumpocalypse

TL;DR: Feelings are hard, but things do actually get better.

Hello again, America.

Don't worry, I'm not going to document my thoughts every day of the impending Trump presidency (although that would be an interesting/healthy way to process everything) because that honestly sounds like too much work. Laziness is winning out on that one.

Instead, I want to talk about how I feel on this Thursday, November 10, 2016:

I feel better.

Believe me, I'm just as shocked as you. I did not expect to feel as okay as I do as quickly as I did. I'm going to try to explain my process, and hopefully that can help some of you feel better, too.

First off, let me explain that I have no desire to invalidate your feelings. If you are still hurting, still scared, still angry, I get that. I felt it. I still feel it. But it's not clouding my every thought now. It's not echoing through the already crowded chambers of my mind, shouting and screaming over every other thought and emotion like it was Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. It has become quiet and manageable, and it now informs (instead of dictates) a lot of what I think about Mr. President-elect.

It took me most of the day Wednesday to get there. And, if I'm being 100% truthful, a good chunk of it is because I got enough sleep last night. It's amazing what seven solid hours of sleep will do for you when you've been running on fumes and sadness/anxiety for two days. Seriously.

Wednesday proved to me that the universe may actually be a relatively benevolent thing because many good things happened. Here's a short list:

1) I saw some of my best friends. We hugged out our sorrow and sadness. We hissed out our anger and unclenched our jaws.

2) I talked to my dad. Dad is a hopeless optimist and helped me see that all is, in fact, not lost. He told me he how he voted and how this election was different for him (which touched me more than I let on during the phone call). He talked me through some of the anxiety and anger. He pointed out that while we don't yet know what Trump will do (because he was beyond unspecific during the campaign), that could also work out in our favor. Honestly, just being able to speak it to someone with no filters was a YUGE help (I joke to keep from crying).

3) I watched Hillary's concession speech. Then I watched President Obama's remarks. I may or may not have cried a little.

4) I ate lunch at Chipotle.

5) I talked to my mom. Mom is slightly less optimistic than Dad, but only just. Mom is good a pointing out where I'm not being fair with someone. On top of that, she gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. She passed that on to me, and I'm kind of grateful for it. It has helped me move on.

That was my process. I understand that not everyone can fulfill those same steps and that those same steps will not work for everyone. But, it has helped me, and I'm not that different from most other people.

I was so impressed by Hillary's words. She had every reason to rage. She had been ahead in all the polls. She had campaigned hard to help Democrats down ballot in places where Democrats don't usually win. She had won the popular vote! More people voted for her than for Mr. Trump! However, she didn't rage. She didn't get angry. She didn't rile up her supporters. Instead, she told us she was sorry she didn't win. She told us how honored she was to represent us. She spoke to little girls, who might have been doubting their worth in a country that elected Donald Trump after what he said about women. She told them they have a future.

She told us that she had congratulated Mr. Trump on his victory and that she had offered to help him in any way she could. She said she would work with him and his team to help move the country forward.

Guys, she set an example.

President Obama followed up on that. He mentioned that wanted to work with Mr. Trump. He mentioned that we are all Americans before we are our parties.

I'm striving to follow their example, and it's helping me. I want to work to make this country better, and right now that means working with the other side. I mean, it's always meant that, but now that I'm in a minority party it's especially true.

We can make it through this, team. Obama campaigned on hope. Hillary campaigned on hope. Don't give up on it just because she lost. Cling to it all the harder now, because hope is what will carry us through.

This does not mean, by any measure, that I excuse Mr. Trump for the things he has said and done. Hillary said he deserves a shot at being a good leader and he does. He won a majority of votes from the Electoral College. That's how the Constitution set things up, and I uphold that document. He deserves a shot to make up for his mistakes. But I will be watching. And if he slips up, I will use all the power and authority I have to make him pay for it. I will protest the actions I find unconscionable. I will rage against more bigotry and hate. And I will shout loudly and proudly from any rooftops that we as Americans are better than that.

November 2016

TL;DR: ...


I honestly don't know what to say. There are so many thoughts running through my head right now, and all of them stem from the election last night. Here's a list, in no particular order.

1) All the swears. Literally all of them.

2) How the hell did this happen?? Nobody had Donald Trump pegged as the next president of the United States. Nobody. Except maybe those alt right websites? Wtf did they see that expert pollsters and political scientists couldn't???

3) More swears.

4) I'm scared. As an out and proud gay man, I am unsure of my place in a Donald Trump America. Marriage equality may not be overturned with his first Supreme Court pick (God bless you, Chief Justice Roberts), but what if he gets more than one? What if they decide to revisit that decision and then decide the Court was wrong? What will that do to me? What will that do to my gay friends who are married to people they love? What about my gay friends who are thinking about marriage? This will surely put some unnecessary pressure on them to make a decision.

5) I'm scared for my friends. I'm scared for my best friend, Madelyn, who relies on Obamacare for affordable healthcare. What happens to her when the Republican government gets all sworn in and they finally have the majorities they need to repeal it? I have yet to hear a solid replacement plan.

    What is going to happen to my HR director, a Pakistani Muslim? Will she be deported, even though she is here legally? Will she be forced onto some sort of registry? Will she be unable to find peace at a mosque because they'll all be under surveillance?

6) Still more swears.

7) I'm tired. My frenzied brain only slept for about three hours last night, and that was only because I took some Benadryl to help it.

8) I'm conflicted. On the one hand, the political scientist in me is, at once, pleased and confused. It's pleased that so many Americans exercised their right to vote. It's pleased that that became the motto of the last week of the campaign: go vote! Make your voice heard! It's pleased that Hillary Clinton has not immediately called for a civil war. It's pleased that President Obama has called Donald Trump to congratulate him on his victory and is ready (grudgingly, yes, but ultimately ready) to hand over power peacefully. American democracy can withstand this, early indications suggest.

    My inner political scientist is confused because all normal political signs said Clinton would easily win. It's confused because it doesn't know what to think anymore. Everything I studied about politics for five years suggested this couldn't happen. And yet...

9) I'm sad. To me, this campaign wasn't about Democrats vs. Republicans. To me, this campaign was about love and human decency. I really believed in what Hillary Clinton said: that this was an election about what kind of country we are and want to be. I really believed that America was a country that welcomed immigrants. I believed it was a country that protected its weakest and most vulnerable. I believed it was a country that protected freedom and personal liberties.

   What does electing Donald Trump say about all of that? This man campaigned on building a wall to keep out Mexicans and stopping the flow of refugees (REFUGEES) because they *might* be harboring terrorists. He openly mocked a disabled reporter. He viciously attacked a Muslim gold-star family. He picked a violently anti-LGBT running mate. He talked about sexual assault like it was a joke.

    What does that say about us as Americans? To me, it looks and feels an awful lot like everyone who voted for him doesn't care about those things. On one hand, I know that's not the case, but on the other, I can't know for certain. Is this what we truly value as a country? The kind of people who can do and say the things he did?

10) I want and don't want to be mad. It's a complicated feeling.

11) ...f*ck...

National Coming Out Day

In case you haven't seen, today is National Coming Out Day. It's easy to miss something like that, since every day of the calendar has something attached to it. I think today is also an international day for girls. The UN webpage says today is World Mental Health Day, so there's a third thing to add to your calendar.

All of these things are important, which is why people have assigned a day to them. It's a good way to draw attention to the cause du jour. It provides us with another reason, beyond all of the people affected by whatever the cause is, to talk about a problem and try to work towards solutions.

I want to talk about National Coming Out Day because that is the cause that affects me the most today. I don't want you to think that I think coming out is more important that girls and mental health; it's just that I am not a girl, and I don't think I have too many mental health problems in my life right now. So, coming out is the more applicable soap box, as it were.

I'm glad that we have established a day for coming out. I've already said that I think it's important, but the real reason I'm glad is because of the world I see this day trying to create. It's a dream, a vision of a reality that isn't quite here yet, but towards which we are working. It's a hope: a faith in a world not yet seen, but which could one day be true.

This day was created to celebrate coming out. It was created to celebrate difference and diversity. Ultimately, I think, it was created to celebrate truth. It's the truth about who we are as people, what our lives are like, and how we are choosing to live now. It's the truth that we are exactly who we are supposed to be, that we are no longer going to hide in shadows and lies, half-truths and deflections.

It is, quite simply, truth.

From my own experience, I am far happier now that I have come out. It was a difficult decision for me, though. When I got to the point of personally accepting that I was gay (took me a good long while), I knew I wanted to come out, but I wasn't sure of how that would be viewed by friends and family at large. I knew my closest friends and immediate family would still love me, but I had no idea how anybody else would react. Eventually, spurred on by the then-recent Supreme Court decision on marriage equality, I just thought, "To hell with it." As soon as I published the blog post detailing everything, I texted one of my best friends and asked him to play video games with me as a distraction because I was super anxious about it all (note: the gaming DID NOT help my anxiety).

But then the messages and comments started pouring in: everybody loved it. Not only did they love the post, they loved me. As a person. An individual.

As Luke.

Since then, I've been much happier. I no longer hide who I am. If I want to mention how cute that guy is walking down the street, I do so. If I want to talk about how LGBT discrimination is alive and well, and how much that bothers me, I do so. If I want to talk about how much I actually like Hillary Clinton, not just because she's not an orange manatee (thank you, Stephen Colbert), I do so. I realize that at least one of those things doesn't relate to The Gay, but coming out as gay taught me that I don't really need to hide any aspect of my life. So, I don't.

National Coming Out Day, I think, has as its ultimate goal the creation of a society where coming out is not necessary. It is a goal of a society where I don't need to write a blog post and publish it to Facebook to explain to people why I am suddenly going to seem and be a different person to them. That society is one that celebrates people for who they are: people. Human beings with real dreams, desires, and passions. Real people who care about real things. Real people who are accepted and included, even if they are in a differing minority.

It's a society of happiness.

If I can misappropriate a Mormon scripture, I will. So, I'm going to: "Men are that they might have joy." I ponder on this phrase a lot. It's snuck into a larger discourse on sin and happiness, and I think it gets kind of glossed over. It suggests that our whole reason for being, our very reason for existence, is so we can experience joy. It's so we can be happy.

Coming out made me demonstrably happier. Living true to myself made me demonstrably happier. I cannot think anything bad or evil that makes people happier like this has done to me. And the society, the world that I want to create is one where everyone is happy being who they are. Where everyone is safe and loved while being who they are. And National Coming Out Day helps to further that goal.

A Swell of Pride

TL;DR: Pride was and is great and wonderful and necessary and everything I could have ever hoped for.

Hello, world!

I've been meaning to write this post for a few days now. It's about my first Pride weekend as an open and honest me. I'm sorry that it took two weeks to write, but I'm also not really that sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   It's a really slow day at work, so I can write it now. I hope it makes sense, and I hope that I can adequately convey my thoughts and feelings to those of you who may not understand why that weekend (June 11-12) was so great.

I was very excited for Pride. Like, unnecessarily and bizarrely excited. I realize that members of the LGBT+ community tend to get excited for Pride and that it's totally natural to be excited for it. For me, the excitement was unexpected. Before I came out to the world, I wasn't ever excited for Pride. I had opportunities to go to Pride weekend celebrations in Utah, but I never chose to go. There are plenty of reasons that I won't go into. Suffice it to say that I just didn't go.

I should have gone.

Pride is wonderful. It's bright, loud, flashy, glittery, dance-y, musically fun. By the time the parade rolled around to where me and my friends were standing, I was already happy I had decided to attend. I had acquired a little Pride flag from some bank on the corner, and I happily waved it at other people who were happily waving at me.

The parade started with a lesbian motorcycle gang (which is apparently a thing). They were loud, constantly revving their engines. Large choppers aren't my favorite vehicles mankind has developed, but I was happy to see that the people riding them were just as happy as me, if not more. Following them were members of the DC Metro Police who identified with some letter of the LGBT+ community. I had an easier time relating to them because they looked more like me (more so than the motorcyclists). To me, they seemed more normal, which is everything I've tried to be since forever.

The rest of the parade is kind of a blur to me, but I almost cried when the LGBT+ affirming churches started showing up. The first church was a Baptist church, and almost every person was holding a sign that said some form of "God loves you." On top of that being a message I think the world just needs, that hits me on a very deep, personal level. It's something that I think the LDS Church needs a lot of work on. Sure, we say it in church all the time, but the feeling isn't always there. I was grateful to see a small contingent of Mormons marching along with the rest of the parade. They stopped in front of me for a moment, so I asked one of them for a hug (she obliged!). It was tender.

Other than almost crying, my emotional state expressed itself like this for the rest of the parade:

Yes, that is the same photo that I just made my profile pic on Facebook. My roommate took it. I had no idea it was happening, and I'm glad I didn't because I really like how it turned out. That picture represents exactly how Pride made me feel.

It made me happy.

Not just happy, though. It was that kind of happiness that wells up inside you and makes you full. I was giddy. I laughed. I couldn't keep that silly smile off of my face because I was just so gosh darn happy! Here were people who were proud to be who they were marching in a parade like the beautiful human creatures they are. Here were people who were proud to support those that were different marching in a parade like the beautiful human creatures they are. Here were people lining the streets and cheering for those people who were proud to be who they are.

Cheering for me.

For the first time since coming out, I felt a little something stir inside me, something I had never expected to feel: pride. I was proud of myself for making it this far in my life (I'm 27 now). I was proud of myself for cutting through the lies I'd told. I was proud of myself for being authentically me for almost a whole year.

I was proud to be gay.

Then, Sunday morning happened.

I woke up at my usual Sunday morning time (whenever the sun shines bright enough through my east-facing window -_-) and glanced down at my phone to see what time it was. Instead of the clock, I saw several CNN notifications alerting me to the Orlando shooting. I didn't really register it at first, other than letting out a sigh at another mass shooting. It didn't hit me until I went downstairs for breakfast that it was a shooting at a gay nightclub, that twenty people were dead (the death toll eventually hit 49), that it was in the middle of my Pride weekend. I stared at Twitter while eating my cereal, shocked at what had happened. My roommate, the one who took the picture above, stopped at the table on his way out the door to church. He asked if I had seen the news, to which I nodded. He muttered something about how that sucks, then asked me to please be careful at Pride that day.

I think that's when it really hit me. I was going to the Pride festival, a kind of fair that set up shop on Pennsylvania Ave. down by the Newseum and the Canadian Embassy (really close to the Capitol building, too). My roommate knew that was my plan, and wanted to make sure I would be careful in case this was something more than just an awful thing in Florida.

It was then that I realized that for all the progress the LGBT+ community has made, for marriage equality, for fighting to be heard and represented and accepted, for all the happiness that I felt at Pride, there were still people in the world who wanted to kill me. For all of that good that has happened to people like me, there are still those in the world who revile us. Who despise us. Who think we are worthy of nothing but death, and the most ignominious at that.

All that hit me as my roommate walked out the door to go to church. I spent the rest of that morning, and a good chunk of the early afternoon, on Twitter following the updates and searching for anything that might indicate I would be unsafe. As time went on, I began chatting with my friends, some of whom were very upset at what happened. We talked through anger, shock, and grief. And as we talked, my resolve to go to the festival anyway grew.

So, I went. By myself. I metroed into the District and walked into the festival. I even donated $10 to keep the festival free next year. This is what it looked like:

 

Lots of people, lots of tents, and lots of balloons. All in the shadow (figuratively speaking) of the nation's capital. And pretty much everyone was happy. There were several signs expressing love and solidarity for the people in Orlando, which I thought were very appropriate and nice.

I continued messaging my friends as I walked. As I said, I was by myself, so I needed someone to talk to. Pride is definitely more fun when you go with your friends. Anyway, one of my friends said he was especially proud of me for going to Pride that day because the LGBT+ community needed to show the world that we would not be intimidated. Fear and violence were not going to stop us from celebrating who we are.

I really liked that sentiment. And I'm finding that as more time passes, the more I believe it. I am gay. Nothing will change that. But I'll be damned before I let some homicidal maniac force me back into the closet because he's uncomfortable seeing two men kiss. 

I used to think that I just wanted to live my life. Just live it. Why does it matter who I am attracted to? Why can't I just be Luke and also be attracted to men? I wanted to be normal, to blend in with the crowd and not cause a stir. I acknowledged my differences, but I wasn't proud of them.

Orlando has changed me. It galvanized something that the Pride parade had started the day before. It showed me that I shouldn't hide my differences. In fact, I should wear them openly. People should see that I am different. They should know it, and if it makes them uncomfortable, they should feel it. They should feel that discomfort and work through it because I am not going anywhere. 

We are not going anywhere. 

We will continue to make our presence known. We will continue to kiss in public. We will continue to go to nightclubs. We will continue to throw our large, loud, and obnoxious parades. We will continue being sassy and fierce and fiery and passionate. We will continue to reject your outdated view of how the world should be. 

I think that's what Pride is all about. It's about being happy doing our thing. It's about being out in the world and not being ashamed. It's about visibility, for ourselves and for those that desperately need to see they are not alone. It's about changing hearts and minds. It's about living fearlessly in a world where fear is used by the weak to control the powerful. Ultimately, it's about living life to its fullest.

So today, I live with Pride.

Time to Be Me

TL;DR: I'm gay. Feel free to freak out. Or, preferably, don't. I only sort of care.

I've been thinking about this post for a long time. I've been working on it in bits and pieces as they come to me. For example, some of this I wrote during a particularly boring International Relations class. I want this post to be a good read; however, it's more important to me that it is accurate in its reflections on my thoughts and feelings. So I'm taking it slow, putting it together as ideas coalesce, and refining thoughts and words. Basically, I'm writing this like I should have written every school paper ever (#liveandlearn).

The best way to do this is to come right out and say it: I'm Luke. I'm 26 years old. I'm an American. I graduated in Political Science. I'm (sometimes) a runner. I'm a gamer. I'm occasionally a musician. I'm fairly liberal. I'm a brother. I'm a son. I'm a friend.

I'm also gay.

Surprised? That's a genuine question. I've been so against it that I've tried to hide it. I've even lied to myself so much that I actually believed I wasn't gay. However, I can no longer hide it because it's unhealthy, and it makes me unhappy. I have to be genuine.

That doesn't mean that I don't struggle with it some days. I never asked to be gay. I never wanted it. In fact, I can't imagine why anyone would want to be gay, especially when they live in Utah/Idaho. I can't. You all wonder why I hate Provo so much: this is it. Provo is a place of extreme Mormonism (because duh). But the religion that I grew up with, that I was taught by my parents, that I have loved with all my heart has been twisted and contorted into something different. "You must get married," they preach. "Only then can you continue your progression." They push it in church, they push it at school; I literally cannot go anywhere in Provo to avoid this idea that I must get married, and I need to do it now. But what Provo doesn't seem to get is that I can't get married; at least, not in the way it wants me to. And to have that constantly pushed into my face, made a requirement for good favor with my God--that is emotionally and spiritually murderous.

'Murderous' might seem like a really strong word, but it's an accurate one. Each lesson in Priesthood, each talk in Sacrament Meeting that proclaims the wonders of dating or marriage drives a dagger further and further into my heart. Each time someone talks about Priesthood responsibilities and ties that to marriage is like a shot to my face. And with each blow, my resolve to stay with it all weakens. How can I want to be a part of a church that is actively killing my spirituality and emotions? I can't, I tell you, and that damages my frail understandings further.

There is a fix, and believe it or not it comes from my dad. He once told me that when he was called to be in a Young Single Adult branch presidency, he told the branch president that he would not tell the young single adults to get married. He just wouldn't. Instead, he would simply teach them the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and they would feel a desire to do what was right (read: get married). What a novel concept: teach the Gospel that we have been called to teach. Did Jesus run around and tell people to go on dates if they weren't married? No. In fact, the only clue we have that Jesus even cared about marriage is that He attended a wedding in Cana.

That was kinda heavy. Sorry. Here's a corgi to make things better.

Better? Better. Now back to the topic.

I'm gay. And that's something that you, as the reader (and hopefully my friend) are going to have to accept just like I have had to. Believe me, I didn't want to accept it for a long time, but I can't ignore it anymore. It's a part of who I am.

I say "a part" because I think there are far more important parts of me and my identity. The person that is Luke is made up of so much more than who he is attracted to. That list up above (way up there; congrats on making it this far) highlights a few aspects of my identity that I feel are important. It is by no means exhaustive. I hope to keep adding to it as my life goes on.

The thing that is different about that list of stuff and being gay is that I had a choice for many of those things. I chose to study political science. I choose to run. I choose to play a lot of video games. But I didn't choose to be gay. I didn't choose for my body to be attracted to other guys. I didn't. Do I think God made me this way? I don't know. Do I think that environment and conditioning played a role? Probably. I know enough about psychology to recognize their roles in development. But I also know that correlation does not equal causation. Just because events in my past or the environment I grew up in may be linked to homosexuality doesn't mean they caused it.

I believe that I have always been gay. I was gay when I sat next to you in class. I was gay when I took you on that date. I was gay when we won that volleyball game. I was gay when I went snowboarding with you. I was gay when I taught you as a missionary. I was gay when I gave a talk on hope. I was gay when I graduated from BYU.

At this point, I imagine some people are confused. I've been told that I don't really seem gay (for which I'm grateful). But I am. It's the truth. And believe me, it was not an easy thing for me to accept. I struggle with this daily. It's a battle between what I've always believed about myself, my future, my religion, and my very identity and what I feel on a day-to-day basis. I haven't been able to reconcile the two, and sometimes I think they can't be. Some people can, and for that I applaud them. But as of yet, I haven't figured out how to do that. And I don't know that I will be able to.

I imagine that will upset some people. I'm sorry, it's not my goal to upset you. But if there is any goal to this post, it is one of honesty. I have to let everyone know why I act and behave the way I do. I'm kind of excited that I can finally be at this place of honesty with myself and everyone around me. No longer do I have to hide, pretend, and lie.

So, what can we expect from now on? To be honest, there will be some changes. You might see me share some things on Facebook that you disagree with (welcome to Facebook). I might go on dates with guys and talk about them. I might even post pictures. I might post things that differ from traditional Mormon viewpoints. I might become really invested in social justice and civil rights issues. I might even come out as an Actual Democrat (I may or may not bleed blue).

Here's what I expect from you: love. That is it. Literally, all I expect from you is love. This sounds pretentious, but if you are truly my friends and family, I expect you to love me. The best way for you to show your love is probably by saying something along the lines of "I love you" and giving me a hug. Things that really won't help: telling me to pray about it, talk to a bishop, or go to the temple. If you think I haven't already done those things, you are mistaken. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate advice. But I'm 26. I'm an adult. And adults figure things out for themselves. So, general life advice will be greatly appreciated. Mormon-specific life advice will be less appreciated (and could be ignored altogether) because a) I've heard it all, and b) it hasn't really helped. Really, I'm looking for messages of positivity, things that will lift me up without seeking to correct something wrong at the same time. Let's just keep things happy, okay?

So, that’s it. I’m gay. I will not stop loving each and every one of you. And I hope you feel the same.

Luke

Now, to all of my NH girls: I am so sorry. When I first started working there, you all bore down on my and asked me if I was gay. Heck, some of you even told me that I was gay and that I was in denial. And I told you that I was straight and that you had to trust me on that.

I want to apologize for that. I was not at a place where I could accept that about myself. I felt that if that were true, I couldn't help you like I was supposed to. However, I realize now that my sexuality has no bearing on the good I can do as an individual. And believe it or not, you guys helped me understand that. I learned from you that it's important to love myself as an individual. And while I'm not really to that point, I have at least become okay with that. And for that, I thank all of you.

A Bunch of Freaking Weirdos...

Sometimes, I really just can't deal with Mormons.

For real. They drive me insane. We are such a weird people! We do weird stuff! How many twentysomethings do you know that go to church that aren't Mormon? And of that number, how many of them make it a significant part of their life? Like, talk about it (their religion) all the time? Or think things are really cool?

Maybe that's just the cynic in me. To me, a religion isn't supposed to be cool. It's a belief system, one that is supposed to help you through tough times and explain the answers to questions that you might not know you had. It's supposed to answer the deep questions of your soul, the ones you ask yourself when you really seek to know just who you are.

I guess that could be defined as cool. But I don't see it that way. I never really see the need to talk about what I believe unless someone asks me a specific question. For me, religion is all about the intensely personal relationship I have with my God. That's it: me and Him. I suppose Jesus works His way in there, too. So yeah, a relationship between me, my Savior, and my God. Three beings. That's it. Nobody else needs to be a part of it. Indeed, nobody else SHOULD be a part of it.

[Feel free to skip this part: it's only tangentially related.]

[Random rambling: It is for this reason that I have a hard time with these religious freedom bills that are appearing in statehouses across the nation. In my view, people should not have to feel like extending their business' services to members of the LGBT+ community is committing a sin. If I were in their place, I would not feel like it was a sin to serve other human beings. Christian businesses don't exclude Muslims from services, even though Islam would be wrong from the Christian point of view. Why should sexual identity be any different? It shouldn't. And I would go so far as to say that God really doesn't care if you bake a wedding cake for the gay couple that came into your bakery yesterday morning. He's not going to hold you accountable for the couple's actions, sinful or not. And it's not a sleight on your Christianity to serve other people. Christ served everyone He met. We know He met with publicans and sinners, which meant He was willing to work with people.

Random rambling, cont.: The personal relationship comes into play here. To me, my religion and my personal relationship with my God should not be used to deny people rights. Just because I believe (or don't believe) something to be wrong does not give me the right to prohibit others' civil rights. A quote from my US History textbook guides me to this day: "My right to swing my fist ends where the other man's nose begins." It's this concept of my rights ending as soon as they infringe upon someone else's. So, my right to believe that my religion's way of doing things is the best way ends as soon as that way binds the rights of others' to it.

Random rambling, cont.: To be fair, I don't get to tell people what they believe or how they feel. If they truly feel that baking a gay couple a wedding cake is going to send them (the bakers) to hell, then by all means don't bake a wedding cake. But I would hope that that belief is really and sincerely a belief that guides those bakers' actions. If not, denying service becomes discrimination, and I would hope that we have moved past that sort of behavior as a nation. Who knows, though? Some lessons take awhile to learn.]

So, to be here at BYU where people talk about religion so openly is weird for me. People use their testimonies as evidence in papers that they bring to the Writing Lab. Professors teach about the difference between searching for truth and searching for Truth. People bring up quotes from General Conference as answers to questions in my political science classes.

This sort of behavior strikes me as bizarre. It's just weird to me. I've even taken part in it when professors have specifically asked me to. I don't like to because it doesn't feel scholarly to me, and the whole reason I'm at school is to gain an education. Granted, religion can be a part of that, but we have church on Sunday. And I can't use churchy evidence/logic if I'm going to be proving an academic point to peers who aren't Mormon (spoiler alert: that's MOST of the world).

Finally, there's a sort of arrogance that gets worn among the Mormons, especially here at BYU. I've had a few Elders' Quorums that have fallen prey to arrogance. They all get talking about morals and values, and then the more brash ones make claims on which morals and values are right. But what they don't seem to get is that behind the morals they are bashing (usually using quotes/ideas from general authorities) are people within their own quorum who actually believe that opposing view. I'm one of those people fairly often, and I don't feel like I can safely express an opposing viewpoint in that situation. And so, only one side gets said; and without any apparent opposition, the brash become even more emboldened. They start to believe that they truly are right and must be so because no one disagreed.

That sort of attitude makes Priesthood an exceptionally hard meeting to attend. Granted, I'm not a psychic or an actual Jedi, so I cannot read the thoughts of these so-called "brash ones." Perhaps they are not as bad as I make them out to be because they truly do believe. And maybe I'm just sensitive because I feel singled out for daring to think differently. But still, perceived or not, it's an attitude that I don't like, and there are plenty of Mormons who have it (in Provo and elsewhere).

And that's why I sometimes can't stand Mormons.

Luke