Pride at 20 and 40
Finding Queer Joy
I attended Pride today in a big city with about 40,000 other people. This was the first time in 2 years that Pride has taken place due to the worldwide pandemic and all the other crap of the last three years.
I wasn’t planning on going. Crowds, loud noises, and traffic are my least favorite things in the world. I am also trying hard not to get covid. But when presented with the option to go, I went. I needed Pride to contrast the whore of Roe vs. Wade being thrown away like garbage.
At twenty, I wasn’t given a choice about attending. My roommate, one of who would later become a long line of abusive, controlling relationships, informed me that we were going to support her brother.
“But I am not gay.”
“Oh my gosh. You are so silly. Pride is for everyone. We are going as supporters,” Tricia informed me.
I was terrified and overwhelmed by the people. I was also relatively sheltered and thus was scandalized by the men walking down the street in their leather gear. A woman hit on me, and I was horrified that I looked gay. I didn’t feel accepted or like I fit in.
At twenty, I was already different enough that I had put my sexuality away in a box, locked away in a steamer trunk, and hidden it in the ocean in a deep, dark cave. I had lots of gay friends and family members. I was open and supportive to everyone but myself.
At forty, I have taken my sexuality out of the ocean and out of the steamer trunk but still, keep it in the box. I’ve been told I read straight and have also been told, “you aren’t gay enough” by more than one lesbian. Being married to a man for fifteen years also adds to the general impression that I am straight.
After having relationships with women, I’ve concluded that I am queer. For a while, I tried to explain to people why queer fits better than bi or Pan sexual, but I’ve stopped. Part of being queer is no longer defining or justifying it to people.
Preparing to go to Pride, I stressed over the fact that I didn’t have any weather-appropriate rainbow gear. I have several scarves, sweaters, and knee-high wool socks that would not have worked in the ninety-degree weather. I had to settle for my apple watch band that I hope subtly tells that world I am not as straight as I look.
It turned out I didn’t need to look gay or perform any not straightness for pride in 2022. I was surrounded by pure queer joy that also said, fuck you to the world and the supreme court. I was surrounded by a bunch of babies unapologetically proud of who they were, and I was afraid of not looking gay enough.
My straight friend, who was also going to support her gay brother, is who I always thought I should be at big events. She purchased a rainbow tutu and put it in the parking lot over her jeans. She routinely got up and cheered and was super excited and jumping up and down. Watching her happily greet each new part of the parade, I realized that part of my journey is just accepting my dam self. I found a bit of pure joy in just watching the parade and her from the sidelines.
Taking all of this in, I made a silent promise to get more out of my box and comfort zone.
