#outober 2019

[bagog]

OUTober - Gay and Silent

OUTober is here (or been here) so here’s a little essay.

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“What’s the worst that could happen?”

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot, these days. And honestly, the worst that could happen is pretty dramatic: I could lose my job, I could lose my home, I could lose my life. Honestly, though, I probably won’t have to face any of these ‘worsts,’ and the worst I will likely experience if I hold my boyfriend’s hand in the street or kiss him in a café is some judgmental stares. Maybe some whispers. That’s it.

So why is it so hard for me to express that I’m gay in public? Just thinking about this issue is a little embarrassing, since it doesn’t seem to be a problem other people have. I know a lot of people who have come out of the closet and been outspokenly, joyously queer. They absolutely choose every day and with every encounter whether or not to come out to the new coworkers or strangers they meet, same as I do. I guess maybe they’re just a whole lot braver, more consistently, than I am. Honestly, it’s as if my silence—my reticence—is a constant flare up of the old disease of silence I’ve carried around since my time in the closet.

I got very used to being quiet about being gay. I told myself I was special, that what I was feeling wasn’t homosexual longing, it was something different, and that in my heart of hearts I still was attracted to women. Or realized that being with a woman was more important than any relationship I could ever have with a man. I told myself a lot of lies to protect myself. It was Silence born not only out of fear for what my family and friends would do if they found out I was gay, it was a Silence carefully crafted to protect myself from some nebulous evil. I was raised to think of homosexuality as a sin. I don’t think that anymore. But it’s as if, by practicing silence for so long, it’s grown into a life of its own. An allergic reaction to being myself. As if my ‘natural’ defenses don’t distinguish between potential abandonment by my family and a hard stare from a stranger in a restaurant.

Years later, I still default to Silence, to keeping my hands to myself when I’d like to be holding my boyfriend’s. It shortens every hug. It turns every kiss into a staring match with the scowling lady across the street. I don’t like being the center of attention, and maybe this is why I don’t feel comfortable in public displays of affection. Maybe it’s just the way I am. The point is, I’ll never really know. Where once it was a coping mechanism, now Silence is a disease that has affected me down to the core of my personality. This benefits the homophobes, of course, since Silence is exactly what they want out of the gay population. It makes me blame myself, which also benefits the homophobes: I’ve traded guilt over one sin for guilt over a sin of a different kind.

This is why Pride is important, it is the dissolution of Silence. No one bats an eye at a commercial for an allergy medication where the relieved sufferers are hiking and playing with broad smiles on their faces, or a yogurt commercial where a well-dressed woman is ecstatic that she’s regular once again. Pride is the cure and the celebration of the cure. Pride is the celebration of taking control of the cancer of Silence, if not defeating it outright. So sometimes it feels like Pride is not for me, and maybe right now it isn’t. I’m still dealing with the Silence, still trying to get on top of it. I don’t have the energy to be a Brave gay every day. I still fear people will hear me listening to Carly Rae Jepsen or see me wearing a rainbow bracelet or staring too long in the underwear aisle or a thousand other phantom signifiers I might be the Other. I have a lot of pride in who I am, don’t get me wrong. When I came out, I did so because something inside me was stronger than the silence. I did it because it had become life and death. That took guts. I’ll always remember what it took to get to where I am. But this internalized homophobia, this Silence, is older and more subtle than my sense of pride. It doesn’t realize I don’t need it like I used to. It demands to come to the fore.

But being Silent is not a sin, and Pride is for me. The impulse towards Silence might be a disease I deal with for the rest of my life, but my Bravery is just as strong, just as lasting, even if it’s a far younger emotion. I too often lament “what happened to the Brave man who told his conservative parents he was gay and that he was going to live a happy life?” and the truth is, that Bravery is as baked into my being as the years of Silence. I need a shift in paradigm, no more thinking of things in terms of sin and retribution, have to stop being envious of the braver gays. Silence is part of who I am, for better or for worse, and I can live with that. If Silence makes me feel ashamed, then at very least I must not be ashamed of the Silence. But Bravery is part of who I am, as well. Bravery is a force which affects my world as much as the Silence, and should be celebrated in every hug (no matter how brief) every kiss (no matter how anxious) every time I allow myself to be myself without turning down the volume or laughing off what I love.

We all come out of the closet thousands of times in life, sometimes daily. Someday, it won’t be like this, and I want my Bravery to be part of what ends ‘the closet’ once and for all. And it is. It does. My existence—regardless of my sense of self-acceptance—is a force for good in the world.

[spaciousreasoning]

Not as Planned

The day did not go as planned, and there are very few, not very good pictures of only one event. It’s not likely any of those will find their way into the eyes of the public.

The memorial service was well attended. Almost too well, in fact, as dozens of people were packed inside a ramada at the local park, spilling out into the sunshine around the edges or gathering in the shade of nearby trees. We knew almost nobody else present other than the friend whose wife was the focus of the event.

Once the actual ceremony began, it was difficult to hear from beyond the ramada, and the meandering nature of the proceedings was quite different from the Episcopal liturgies we are used to. So we slipped away — unnoticed, no doubt — and headed off to our next stop.

The Pride Festival — known locally as OUTober Fest” — had returned for the first time since 2019, and I was looking forward to enjoying the celebration, seeing many of my LGBTQIA+ friends, and taking some pictures.

Knowing that the event would be well-attended, we parked in a location I was sure would have plenty of room, and we walked toward the site, approaching from the rear of the outdoor performance center that formed the focus of the festival. Sadly, as we approached the open gate, we were turned away by the security guards and directed to the opposite perimeter.

Quite warm from the time already spent outdoors, and not in the mood for any more walking, I stormed away angrily, leaving Nancy trying to keep up with me. The rest of the day was not pleasant, and I spent most of it in a funk.

Happily, next weekend is the annual Tucson Meet Yourself, “an annual celebration of the living traditional arts of Southern Arizona’s and Northern Mexico’s diverse ethnic and folk communities.” To quote the website.

This year there will also be a shrine to Dr. James “Big Jim” Griffith, an anthropologist and folklorist who founded the event with his wife in 1974. “Big Jim” died in December 2021 at the age of 86. His very large presence will still be felt at the meet, without a doubt.

[bagog]

Something Something Blessings

“You know what your problem is?” Kevin jabbed a finger at him, “All you do is complain. There are people who would kill to have for five minutes what you’ve had your whole life!”

“You can’t just bludgeon someone into being grateful for the things you suppose are their ‘blessings’!” Paul shot back. “You have no idea what my life has been like, no matter how well you think you know me. Everyone’s got to fight their own battles, not someone else’s!”

“You’re just avoiding the issue!” There was a fire in Kevin’s eyes. “You go through life pretending to be the victim but you’re not. You’ve had a great life. Just because one little thing goes wrong, you act like you’re one of the underdogs. How insecure can you get?”

“Insecure!?”

“Yeah, insecure! Can’t you find enough meaning in the good parts of your life? Do you have to make up some negative thing just to feel like you’re worth a shit in this fucking world?”

“I’ve dealt with this my whole life! I didn’t just make this up out of nowhere! God, how little do you think of me?”

“You’re avoiding the issue, again!”

“You just say that when you don’t know what to say,” Paul scoffed.

“Everyone’s got their own battles, sure, but yours are objectively not as bad as a ton of other people.”

“But it’s all I know, Kevin! I’m not somebody else, I don’t know what it’s like to have it worse than I have it. Don’t you get that? I can’t believe I have to explain this to you!”

“Don’t patronize me!”

“I’m not trying to!” It had become a shouting match. “No amount of counting-my-blessings is going to fix the fact that I’m going through a really shitty time right now.”

“We all have shitty times, Paul, it matters how you react to them. It matters!”

“And I choose to make the most of what I’ve got—every day! Don’t you see that? God, people aren’t just perfect machines that can take all these shitty inputs and make positive outputs.”

“And yet plenty of people do just that.”

“I can’t believe you’d say something like that. I can’t believe you’d be that naïve.”

“Stop patronizing me!”

“Well do you always do that? Do you always make the best out of every bad situation? You never take the time to wallow in your own problems?”

“At least I can compare my problems to other people’s and recognize how good I have it!” Kevin spat, “I’m not trying to be a dick here, I’m just saying it honestly helps!”

“Of course you’re being a dick! You’re supposed to be my friend, you’re supposed to support me through tough times.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, I’m trying to get you to realize that you have it better than you think. You don’t need to wallow in this.”

“I would never minimize your problems.”

“You are!” Kevin seethed, “You are right now! I would kill to have what you have! And you pretending like you have it so bad is absolutely minimizing what I go through every day.”

“You’re jealous?!”

“I’m not jealous, I’m just being realistic. My life would be measurably better if I had half of what you have.”

“If you had what I had you would realize it’s not as great as it looks.”

“And if you grew up like I did, you would get how ridiculous you sound.”

“Stop trying to get the last word.”