seen (ode to 25, prayer to 26)
What do you do when you’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time believing you’re the problem only to figure out you aren’t. What do you do when a temporary change of scenery makes you resent the scenery you call home just a little bit more. What do you do when the distance you’ve felt from the people who theoretically understand you the best is purely artificial. What do you do when your community is out there somewhere, just not where you are. What do you when your mantra is to live in the now but all you can dream about is the “if” and “when”. What do you do when you’ve felt simultaneously perceived and invisible for years, only to be seen for who you really are for all of a minute and immediately ripped away. What do you do when the forbidden fruit was never actually forbidden in the first place, it just grows in a different orchard. What do you do when it tastes so sweet.
I went to a gay club in West Hollywood two months ago. For the first time in a very long time, I felt that I could let go. I felt seen, but not watched. Noticed, but not surveilled. Perceived, but not judged. For the first time in a long time. How long? It had been about 3 years since I moved to my current location in Nashville. I’d say about that long. In one night, I dispelled the notion I’d carried around for three years: that an authentic version of myself couldn’t feel at home in a queer community. This marks one of a few lessons I’ve learned in the past year: regardless of how optimistic you are or how hard you may try, your full self cannot necessarily blossom in just any garden.
Today is my 26th birthday. I’ve started writing these reflections on my birthday to chronicle lessons I’ve learned. This time, the lesson has been satisfaction with self. After a surgery that allowed me to finally put on a little weight, I look and feel better than ever. I thought the world would see me in a better light because I saw me in a better light. But I was devastated to find that the world keeps on turning at the same rate, regardless of how I feel. I can’t walk into a gay bar in Nashville and will everyone into appreciating my presence. I must accept that even if my state of mind is giving “Dancing Queen” or “This Is What You Came For”, Main Character Syndrome isn’t a condition anyone is required to accommodate. It’s on me to find the soil where my roots can grow strongest and deepest, and support the flowers and foliage that spring from me in the growing season. That soil isn’t currently underfoot, and the story of the past year is the slow acceptance of that fact.
I live where I currently live for a reason. I’m getting a degree. I like my professors, and I like the research that I do. I have goals, and this degree is a large part of making them a reality. But there are parts of me that are not being fed where I am now, and I can’t change that. I can’t make a place something that it isn’t. But I can’t leave until my job here is done. So for the next couple years, I’m going to have to make the most of what I’ve got. I say this as if it’s difficult, but it shouldn’t be when I think of what exactly it is that I’ve got.
I’ve got friendships deep, longstanding, and carefully curated. I’ve got the capacity to make infinitely more connections as I meet more pure and honest souls. I’ve got supportive mentors who are invested in me achieving my version of happiness, even as the definition changes in real time. I’ve got confidence and self-love brought about by the fact that I’ve managed to weather every storm life has brought my way, and there have been some maelstroms over the years for sure. I’ve got an earnest and genuine demeanor because it’s too exhausting to hold onto anything else. I’ve got a solid grip on my flaws and less-than-ideal habits and how to work around them, acknowledging that I’m human and I will never be totally without them. In fact, I wouldn’t be me anymore if all my flaws were removed in an instant. I’ve got a catalogue of every awkward and cringe-worthy thing I’ve ever done or said, and a phenomenally deep reservoir filled to the brim with forgiveness for each item in that catalogue. I’ve got a particularly lightweight melancholy, less like a parka, and more like a warm sweater that I wouldn’t be caught dead without because everyone knows I tend to run cold. I’ve got a way of seeing where people are coming from, especially when it would be so much easier just to write them off wholesale. I’ve got a nice singing voice and a great ear for musical arrangement. I’ve got a clever sense of comedic timing and a wit that can be as dry or sopping wet as I want it to be. I’ve got decent fashion sense and I serve pretty good face.
I’ve got no idea where the right place for me is. Maybe if I follow my memory back to that place in LA, the part of me desiring queer camaraderie will be fed, but the Southern boy that I am will suffer. Maybe if I took up residence in Atlanta, I’d check the queer and Southern boxes but the dream of living somewhere more compact and walkable would be shattered. What if I’m searching on the wrong continent entirely? To be alive is to be disappointed and to breathe is to compromise. There will never be a time, or a place, or a person, that perfectly mirrors the fantasy life in my head. 25 was learning that this is the case, and that this is fine. 26 will be learning to unclench and realize that sometimes I will be pleasantly surprised. Joy doesn’t have to be scary and I don’t have to place mental limits on the amount of fun I’m allowed to have. “I have to go home soon.” No you don’t. “I can’t go on that trip, I just got back from one.” So what? I drove myself to sadness believing that my current living situation could be a specific thing that it isn’t. Now, I’m trying not to drive myself to sadness believing that my current situation can never be anything more than it is.
This year’s word is going to be “open”. What exactly do I mean by that? Fantastic question, I think I’m supposed to say the definition is open-ended. The prayer that I have for this next revolution around the Sun is that I can once more find that feeling of being seen, but not watched. Noticed, but not surveilled. Perceived, but not judged. And I don’t want to go far to find it. I can’t have it all, I’ve made my peace with that. I will forever be chasing light, I’ve made my peace with that. I will land in the place where living takes the least effort, and that place isn’t Nashville. I don’t know where it is. I’ve made my peace with that. But I’m hoping that if I open up a little (there goes that keyword again) and get out of my own head, those with whom I come into contact will see right through my skin and bones to the being underneath. If this isn’t the place where my roots will grow deepest, at least let people remark that if my flowers look this great now, imagine when I get to that other place, wherever it may be.