Still Unraveling...
There I was, standing below the giant rainbow flag on Normal Street, at the San Diego Pride Festival, one speck in a sea of colorful revelers celebrating diversity and inclusion, when out of nowhere it happened. I spotted the next group in line to march their way down University Avenue during the hours-long annual parade. It wasn't a float with boom-boom-booming dance music, three-quarters-naked buff men, or a surprising corporate entry (Wal-Mart?!) that got to me. That would have been too obvious. Instead, it was the sight of the San Diego Police Department awaiting their turn to march--probably two dozen men and women in blue smiling, laughing, waving small rainbow flags--that sent a happy shiver down my spine and cued the waterworks from my eyes.
My first Pride in San Diego after moving here a month ago was not expected to be much of an emotional experience, at least not by me. After all, having been out and about for 18 years now, I was not new to this scene. It was not my first gay rodeo. That happened in Atlanta nearly two decades prior, and as I recall I needed to be dragged kicking and screaming to the festivities. At 25, newly minted in the community, I did not know what Pride really meant. Truth be told, I wasn't really even sure I wanted to. But I opened to the experience. I saw men and men, women and women, all holding hands. Being joyful. Being themselves. It really touched me. No, it overwhelmed me. Those folks had (or seemed to have) exactly what I always wanted. They were free to be whomever they were, to love whomever they wanted. The Pride Festival gave them a home, a spot to congregate outside of bars, to come out from the shadows and see that they were not alone. I saw them. I understood them. Suddenly--happily--I was not alone anymore, either.
Back to 2016.
I hear a lot of people talking about how the world is coming unglued, that things are falling apart faster than you can say "Make America Great Again". The general consensus seems to be that we are going to hell in a handbasket. Or maybe, just maybe, we are already there. I cannot abide by such gloomy forecasts. This does not mean that I do not have moments of believing those doomsday scenarios are absolutely true. In those times I am scared, sad, heartbroken, shattered to my core. Crying for hours and days because some sicko shot up a bar full of gay people, or another innocent black man was gunned down, or families enjoying a holiday in France are brutalized by an insane truck driver, or cops who are trying to protect and serve are hunted down like animals. I check Facebook. It tells me there is no more love in the world, that perhaps it is every man for him/herself. I see the reactions of my friends and family to these daily disasters. I get hurt and angry and disappointed when some of them react differently than I do. I start to wonder what the hell the answer is, or if there even is one. I keep searching, searching, searching out there for some semblance of true decency in the world. I never seem to find it. It is only then that I remember: It's not out there. I won't find it on Facebook, or television, or anywhere outside of myself. The thought that anyone can fix this broken world is an egoic pipe dream.
So where does that leave me?
Yesterday, it left me standing amidst hundreds of thousands of strangers who were not quite so strange after all. I saw people--all kinds of people--united together. I basked in the joy on the streets, saw the smiles, heard the laughter, felt the hugs, cried the tears. All of it was so far beyond being gay, or being proud, or being anything at all, really. It was a distinctly human thing. And it is something so much bigger than me. It is bigger than any cause. It is bigger than any hate. It is bigger than any potential President. It is a simple fact of being alive and connected, and I do not mean "connected" to a cell phone, or Pokémon game, or a Facebook news feed. There is no life in any of those things. This connection starts in the heart. It resides and flourishes there. It is not subject to opinions or biases, or hateful rhetoric, or ignorance. It does not even look upon those things with the slightest bit of contempt. It doesn't need to. It is a spirit of truth and a celebration of what being alive really means. It is laughter and love. It is acceptance and tolerance, completely free of controversy. It is real forgiveness. It is letting go of the past, not holding on to hurt but releasing it. It is seeing a police officer holding a rainbow flag and understanding just how insignificant those descriptors are in relation to the depth of connection that lies beneath every label we can ever come up with.
It is times like these that make me dig in to what I know deep down. Life is not worth living if it means being afraid of everything. That is not life, at least not for me. I do not want to accept that things are going to hell. I won't accept it. If I focus my attention on that, I am done for. What a waste of life. I have to keep looking at my own issues, my own prejudices, the places where I hold back or get tripped up. I must always do better. I can do better. In my heart of hearts, I know what being a human means. It means I have a choice of perspective. When I can feel the power and innocence and purity of love for myself, only then can I distribute it to others. There is nothing more important to strive for here on Earth than peace within. That is truly being home.
I do not have all the answers. I am one person, living the best way I know how. But I know now that I want more for myself than to be fearful and separated. I have to want more if I proclaim to love myself. Perhaps I oversimplify things. I don't care. I just know that I want more of what I felt yesterday, or am feeling as I type these words. In the innocence and vulnerability of real love there is strength beyond limits. The more time I spend cradled in the arms of this tremendous love, the more I want. Selfish? Yes. But we can all benefit from such selfishness.
It's been a long while since I have written on this blog. Sometimes it takes a monumental dose of the truth to get the wheels turning again. I am still here, and life--with all its warts and bumps and bruises--is still unraveling. And right now, in this moment, I cannot be more proud to be a part of it.
My first Pride in San Diego after moving here a month ago was not expected to be much of an emotional experience, at least not by me. After all, having been out and about for 18 years now, I was not new to this scene. It was not my first gay rodeo. That happened in Atlanta nearly two decades prior, and as I recall I needed to be dragged kicking and screaming to the festivities. At 25, newly minted in the community, I did not know what Pride really meant. Truth be told, I wasn't really even sure I wanted to. But I opened to the experience. I saw men and men, women and women, all holding hands. Being joyful. Being themselves. It really touched me. No, it overwhelmed me. Those folks had (or seemed to have) exactly what I always wanted. They were free to be whomever they were, to love whomever they wanted. The Pride Festival gave them a home, a spot to congregate outside of bars, to come out from the shadows and see that they were not alone. I saw them. I understood them. Suddenly--happily--I was not alone anymore, either.
Back to 2016.
I hear a lot of people talking about how the world is coming unglued, that things are falling apart faster than you can say "Make America Great Again". The general consensus seems to be that we are going to hell in a handbasket. Or maybe, just maybe, we are already there. I cannot abide by such gloomy forecasts. This does not mean that I do not have moments of believing those doomsday scenarios are absolutely true. In those times I am scared, sad, heartbroken, shattered to my core. Crying for hours and days because some sicko shot up a bar full of gay people, or another innocent black man was gunned down, or families enjoying a holiday in France are brutalized by an insane truck driver, or cops who are trying to protect and serve are hunted down like animals. I check Facebook. It tells me there is no more love in the world, that perhaps it is every man for him/herself. I see the reactions of my friends and family to these daily disasters. I get hurt and angry and disappointed when some of them react differently than I do. I start to wonder what the hell the answer is, or if there even is one. I keep searching, searching, searching out there for some semblance of true decency in the world. I never seem to find it. It is only then that I remember: It's not out there. I won't find it on Facebook, or television, or anywhere outside of myself. The thought that anyone can fix this broken world is an egoic pipe dream.
So where does that leave me?
Yesterday, it left me standing amidst hundreds of thousands of strangers who were not quite so strange after all. I saw people--all kinds of people--united together. I basked in the joy on the streets, saw the smiles, heard the laughter, felt the hugs, cried the tears. All of it was so far beyond being gay, or being proud, or being anything at all, really. It was a distinctly human thing. And it is something so much bigger than me. It is bigger than any cause. It is bigger than any hate. It is bigger than any potential President. It is a simple fact of being alive and connected, and I do not mean "connected" to a cell phone, or Pokémon game, or a Facebook news feed. There is no life in any of those things. This connection starts in the heart. It resides and flourishes there. It is not subject to opinions or biases, or hateful rhetoric, or ignorance. It does not even look upon those things with the slightest bit of contempt. It doesn't need to. It is a spirit of truth and a celebration of what being alive really means. It is laughter and love. It is acceptance and tolerance, completely free of controversy. It is real forgiveness. It is letting go of the past, not holding on to hurt but releasing it. It is seeing a police officer holding a rainbow flag and understanding just how insignificant those descriptors are in relation to the depth of connection that lies beneath every label we can ever come up with.
It is times like these that make me dig in to what I know deep down. Life is not worth living if it means being afraid of everything. That is not life, at least not for me. I do not want to accept that things are going to hell. I won't accept it. If I focus my attention on that, I am done for. What a waste of life. I have to keep looking at my own issues, my own prejudices, the places where I hold back or get tripped up. I must always do better. I can do better. In my heart of hearts, I know what being a human means. It means I have a choice of perspective. When I can feel the power and innocence and purity of love for myself, only then can I distribute it to others. There is nothing more important to strive for here on Earth than peace within. That is truly being home.
I do not have all the answers. I am one person, living the best way I know how. But I know now that I want more for myself than to be fearful and separated. I have to want more if I proclaim to love myself. Perhaps I oversimplify things. I don't care. I just know that I want more of what I felt yesterday, or am feeling as I type these words. In the innocence and vulnerability of real love there is strength beyond limits. The more time I spend cradled in the arms of this tremendous love, the more I want. Selfish? Yes. But we can all benefit from such selfishness.
It's been a long while since I have written on this blog. Sometimes it takes a monumental dose of the truth to get the wheels turning again. I am still here, and life--with all its warts and bumps and bruises--is still unraveling. And right now, in this moment, I cannot be more proud to be a part of it.
Comments