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.
