First, a meditation.

A Litany For Survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours:

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid

So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive

- Audre Lorde, The Black Unicorn

In the fall of 2006, I had been out for two and a half years. Though my university has six LGBT groups, I had not participated in a single event with them. Not the Back-to-School BBQueer, not the Second Chance Prom, not the Lambda tailgate, not the speaker series. Not a single thing.

My gayness was limited to dating men and frequenting gay clubs.

That all changed when I joined the whirlwind cross-country faith-based LGBTQ activism program Equality Ride, sponsored by Soulforce. For four months, I lived and breathed gay activism full-time. Today, I conspire with visionary individuals and organizations to change the world through web and media. Many of them are LGBT focused or intentionally LGBT-inclusive in their justice work. I “do” activism every day.

One of the concerns I hear in my work with people in various stages of the coming out process, is “I don’t want to be an activist or in-your-face, I just want to be me.” I feel that too: I want to just be.

There are certainly activists. Folks, myself included, who intentionally work in specific, public ways to change the world.

I am realizing each day that activism is bigger than that though. Bigger than the non-profit professionals and the union organizers and Wall Street occupiers.

I don’t have the luxury of choosing activism, it chose me. I have activism thrust upon me every day as I live in a society that relegates me to Less Than. Every time I present in a gender non-conforming way—whether that’s crossing my legs while sitting on the subway or gesticulating too wildly while speaking—I open myself up danger. Every time I embrace a romantic partner or reference a relationship, I take a risk: my friend might abandon me, a stranger might attack me, an employer or client might terminate me.

And at the same time, every time I live and act openly and proudly, I occupy that piece of life and society, and state: I am here. Every time I talk about my relationships, and my gay friends; every time I embrace a spectrum of gender presentations and roles; I am engaging in activism.

Finding Alignment

In coming out to my pastor and in risking arrest to speak with students at Wisconsin Lutheran… in both of the places, I am activist.

The practice for me (and for you, if you choose it) is to find alignment. Find the spot that feels right. That spot might change from time to time, or moment to moment. And that is OK, that is to be expected.

Find the ways to be true and authentic and proud and bold.

Tough Questions

This is part of December’s series on Tough Questions on the path to affirmation. You can subscribe to receive the daily prompts. Would you consider responding to this prompt (publicly, on your blog or social network; or privately in a journal, 750words.com, or in an email to me [or someone else]).

It’s 10:00 PM and my evening is winding down. I pick up my MacBook Air, my journal, and the book I’m reading (The Wisdom of No Escape). I’m not sure what my plan is: to read? To journal? To type? The light from the fire/heater against a comfy chair catches my eye. I sit in the chair, the light and the heat of the fire on my left side and look out the large glass doors onto the still glassy lake. I write.

As I’m writing, the silhouettes of my fingers against the backlit keyboard catch my eye. I pause and look down at them. I can see a ring on my finger. I look over to the empty couch next to me. I can see a kid running and jumping on it. I can see the child sleeping peacefully, toys scattered about on the floor.

There’s something… right.. about that. It feels nice and comforting and good.

But the love stories on the radio don’t match the love stories of my life.

Can I have a family? Will I have to let that dream go? Will it ever be real?

I’ve always wanted a family (I still do). At times, who I was seemed to conflict with what I wanted. The government of my country (and of some religious denominations) refuses to acknowledge or support families that look like the one I might build. Relationships are hard enough, how do you build one in the face of so much resistance?

And there’s questions of logistics which I could swim in for days if I let myself: how much will it cost? Do I adopt or have a surrogate? Open or closed? Family member, friend, or stranger? Will the child feel like we’re his or her (or zir, or their) parents? Will it feel more connected the parent(s) of origin?

I don’t know. 

I don’t like not knowing. I like maps and plans and data collection and evaluation. (That’s one of the reasons I love working with GLSEN so much… lots of research!)

I know now that I can have a family. I also know that if I don’t have a family, I am not a failure. There are all types of relationships and ways to move through life, and they are all valuable and important. Christians can look to Paul and Jesus who both, to varying degrees, advocated forsaking marriage for the kingdom of God.

I look down at my finger and know that one day, there very well might a ring on it. And that my family and my friends and communities of faith and my state (and hopefully soon my country) will recognize it.

And that makes me smile.

SELF-EXAM

What about you? Is this a question you’ve asked yourself? Would you consider responding to this prompt (publicly or privately)? If you do, and you’re brave enough to share it with me, I’d love to hear it. Ping me on Facebook, Twitter, or Google+. Or just shoot it to my inbox.

PS The beautiful photo is by Lola Audu (it’s not the same lake).

This Dispatch is part of the Tough Questions series. You can sign-up for Free Daily Dispatches to receive them all.

Gay people get AIDS and die.

Did anyone ever say it to me those exact words to me? Probably not. That is what the culture told me. Homosexuals are promiscuous, gay men get all sorts of STDs, gay people are depressed, they are suicidal, they are unhealthy. I heard it in church, and on the news, and in the WORLD magazine that my dad subscribed to.

//

I remember the first gay man I (knowingly) met. The librarian at my dad’s law firm. He looked just like everyone else.

//

In health class, I learned that homosexuality was natural and normal. When we learned about STDs, we learned that people get them, it doesn’t matter if you’re straight, or gay, or something else.  That was the beginning of reacquainting myself with reality.

I know that being gay is no more or less inherently unhealthy than being straight. The questions still nag in my mind though, “What if something goes wrong?” “What if my friends or a partner “get sick”?

//

Mr. McKinnon was my favorite Sunday school teacher. I “got saved” in his class in sixth grade. He died from a brain tumor when I was in ninth grade. His son was still in high school.

Sometimes people get sick, sometimes they die young.

//

One of my best friends is HIV-positive. He’s happy and healthy. He inspires and challenges me. I don’t live his life: I don’t need to take medication and make regular visits to the doctor and monitor my blood. I don’t know the internal challenges that he may (or may not) struggle with. But I know he’s here. And he’s living an amazing life. And changing the world.

Soon, he’ll be older than Mr. McKinnon.

//

Every time I get a  sore throat, or a fever, or a stomach ache I think to myself “Is it because I’m gay?” I know it’s not—in my head. But somewhere else whispers into my ear. Even when there is absolutely nothing that I’ve done that could possibly get me sick (other than ride the New York City subway). What if…

There are times when I wish that I could not be gay simply so that I don’t need to worry.

The worry though, I fear (and am thankful for), is self-created. I create it out of nothing—out of anxiousness and paranoia and misinformation—and so just as easily I can let it go.

Instead of worrying about if I will be healthy, I can strive to live healthfully.

I eat fresh foods. I move my body daily. I exercise my mind. I soothe my soul.

Will I be healthy?

It’s time to put aside false information and anti-gay (usually religious) rhetoric: The answer is a simple yes; yes, I will be healthy.

TOUGH QUESTIONS

This is part of December’s series on Tough Questions on the path to affirmation. You can subscribe to receive the daily prompts. You’re invited to respond to each prompt (publicly, on your blog or social network; or privately in a journal, 750words.com, or in an email to me [or someone else]).

Do you have a Tough Question you’d like to be included in the series? Let me know.

This Dispatch is part of the Tough Questions series. You can sign-up for Free Daily Dispatches to receive them all.

My grandfather played semi-professional, my father was a varsity kicker before sustaining an injury that ended his ability to compete. My cousins played basketball, baseball, football.

I was in Boy Scouts and had a chemistry set.

I played sports. Basketball, baseball, roller hockey, football. I was playing tennis competitively by middle school and was a varsity high jumper in high school. Two years ago, on the spur of the moment, I entered a 5-mile race and finished 37:59.

What is different, then, between me and my cousins? Why am I followed by this nagging feeling that I’m just not … enough?

I ask myself over and over again Am I real a man?

Does this… this… gayness, queerness, this thing make me less of a man?

I was catching up with an old friend and he shared with me,

I’m fine being gay. It’s who I am and I love it. And we’re gay. And it’s great. That doesn’t bother me at all. But when I think about other people looking at me, watching me—I just can’t imagine that they find this, me, attractive. I imagine myself to be… unattractive… from an outside perspective.

Where does that come from? Why is it that (a) gay men are portrayed to be “less masculine” and then (b) why is that a bad thing? Why doesn’t Matthew Mitcham, the gold medalist diver, or Bayard Rustin, the civil rights organizer, come to mind when we think of gay men. And, for that matter, why can’t the over-the-top effeminate gay man Jack from Will & Grace be just as desirable and attractive? Why can’t that be manly too?

It can of course.

I don’t want to deny the real sense of gender that our culture instills in us. To imagine that I can simply ignore or avoid it disingenuous. But I can overcome it. I can recognize it and call it out for what it is: a construct.

And then I can create my own self, a self that lifts weights and sings along to show tunes. A self with scented candles that knows how to build a fire, shoot a rifle, and fix the plumbing. A self that likes all sorts of genders. I am a real man not because I am any one way, but because I am my own man.

Question yourself

As part of this Tough Questions series, would you consider responding to this prompt? Post it to your blog or social network. Write it in a journal or an email. I’ll be enriched by your response, and I bet someone else will be too.

Sure, I want to know what God’s intention is and what the Bible says and what my family will think. Of course.

But there’s more to it, for me at least.

Anti-establishment type as I might be, I want to be cool. Liked. Sexy. Popular.

When I was growing up and coming into a realization of myself, I wanted to be normal. I looked at my friends, some of whom were “cooler” than me and thought “I want to be like that.” I want to be the guy with pretty girlfriend (or the ever rotating stable of girlfriends). I want to be sought after. Desired.

Who wants to be friends with the gay kid?

A look at the culture around me didn’t help. When I hear love songs (or even degrading pop or rap songs), I don’t see myself represented. I am not a Hollywood love story.

That’s changing. Kurt & Blaine’s relationship is front and center on the wildly popular FOX television show Glee. Modern Family includes a gay couple in the hilarious ensemble. A teen recently came out as transgender on the Canadian drama/soap Degrassi: The Next Generation. LGBT folks are eeking the way into the spotlight. That’s great.

I know there are gay football players in the NFL, but none public about it. There’s no major movie stars. It’s considered an accomplishment when a gay actor can “play straight” and a bold risk when a straight actor plays gay.

I can’t help but shake the feeling that gay folks are loved in spite of being gay (or sometimes because they are gay) not simply loved/admired/idolized for being who they are. Worst, we ignore the fact that some of our favorite people are gay, transgender, or otherwise queer.

And then I ask myself… should I even be concerned with being cool? That’s a question for another time.

TOUGH QUESTIONS

This is part of December’s series on Tough Questions on the path to affirmation. You can subscribe to receive the daily prompts. You’re invited to respond to each prompt (publicly, on your blog or social network; or privately in a journal, 750words.com, or in an email to me [or someone else]).

This Dispatch is part of the Tough Questions series.

“What is this a faggot party? Y’all a bunch of faggots. I wish I had an oozie, man I wish I had an oozie. You mess with God, you mess with me. Man, I wish I had an oozie.”

A man yelled at a group of friends and me as he walked past our outdoor table at Yum Yum Too in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC. I knew when I came out that people would think about me differently and treat me differently. Harassment and fear of violence because of my sexual orientation and gender presentations is a constant reality.

Can I handle it?

Michael Vacha Jr. said,

Being “out” doesn’t always mean someone has become self-affirming or unabashed about their intimate relationships: “I know we’re not in West Hollywood anymore, but will you hold my hand anyway?”

I expected there to be some definitive time in the future when everything fell into place and just felt “right.” That never happened. Not that I don’t feel good about myself, I do. It’s more that when I was a child, I expected being a “grown-up” to be some magical, static, completed thing. Real life is fluid and complex and beautiful. It’s a journey.

In the early stages of coming up, I worried what people would think, what they would say. Would it be uncomfortable? Would it be worse than uncomfortable, would it be hurtful? Would I be able to handle it all? Am I strong enough to survive?

I practice noticing my body and my reactions. When do I feel the urge to uncross my legs, scoot away from my male friend, or let go of my boyfriend’s hand?

Sometimes, I let the urge go and I continue carrying on my business. Other times, I recognize a need for safety and I go with my instincts.

The practice is paying attention to the moments when I feel uncomfortable and discerning when I need to act on that discomfort and when I need to let it go.

“Will I be uncomfortable? How will I survive” is a question I continue to ask myself.

Would you consider responding to this prompt? If you blog, write there (and link back here so I can read it too). Or respond on your social network of choice. Or write it in a journal for no one else to see but yourself. 

What does this Tough Question bring up in you?