Why don’t you say what you mean to me
I always tell you what you mean to me
I drew a map so you’d find your way
Most guys won’t do that for someone these days
But I do
I do it for you
I do it for, you baby
I’ve trained myself to take up this space
But now your head rests on my pillow case
And it’s cool if you don’t want to stay
But just in case you do
I’d do
I’d make room for you
I’d do it for you, baby
Let Boys Be Feminine
An Instagram aesthetic photo that has floated through the feeds and stories of people I follow Has always resonated with me
but this time I feel personally convicted
To share a story from my childhood that I always share with close friends
About the times my grandmother let me be me
For some reason with her I had no boundaries (and I still don’t. I cuss and she’ll laugh or reach to try and literally swat my ass)
And as a child when I had choices to make about my identity or gender she always let
Me choose me
In the south it’s not odd for people to cling to the written word so hard that they can’t accept those who don’t fit within the margins of “right”
But not My grandmother
There’s one recurring example of what I’m talking about that will fundamentally speak volumes for what a small act of acceptance and love can do to you.
We pull up to the drivethru and I hop into the very back of her big van so no one working the window
Can see me
She orders me the kids meal and they respond with
Girl or boy toy
She turns her head and smiles back at me and I whisper “girl toy”
Once in the clear I take my seat back in the front safe and free of judgement from anyone in public or sitting next to me.
She never cared or was scared about or by anything I did that showed how feminine I was. I cared. I was scared. But around her I was the most true to myself I would allow me to be.
You’d be surprised at the pivotal moments you create and existences you shake by just loving someone by knowing not just who they are but how they are operating in this weird complicated world we are all trying to be happy in.
So if you’re queer , Happy Pride
And also to my grandmother and other allies.
Because when you let your loved ones be themselves they’ll never have to hide themselves from people sitting next to them
Or anywhere
Let boys be feminine.
11.9.16
America the Beautiful, the land I call my own,
I'm not mad at you. I still love you. But I'm very, painfully disappointed in you.
We in this world, and even we in America, are one. Globally, as humans living on this Earth, we are a collective consciousness. We are all part of each other.
We are all small components of a larger whole. We have disagreements with others and may have different views or convictions, but that does not change being one collective unit with one collective consciousness.
There is one fair and honest way to see a reflection of the collective consciousness in real life: you have a vote.
One person each putting forth their feeling on something, voting for their point of view, and seeing what happens as a collective. The answer shows the feelings of the majority of that collective. Before last night, when I think of how pure and powerful and honest that can be, I imagine scenarios like Whoville on Christmas when everybody is holding hands and singing because the collective love for the Christmas spirit outshines the sadness of not having gifts. The Whos voted to love. Or scenarios like everyone as a whole voting to take a nap at 4pm or hugging each other at 3pm worldwide. I have a deep sense of altruism when it comes to how loving humanity can be when they're aware of that power.
Last night I was shown however, that I am not the American majority. I do not have the same inherent values that the majority of my country does. I'm not part of my country's collective feeling as it weighs out. I refuse to support the rehetoric and racism that the majority of my country views as permissible. I hold myself to a higher standard of humanity than the collective consciousness of my own country. I'm embarrassed to be an American today for that reason, and I've never felt like that.
Mike Pence has been a supporter of conversion therapy. That's when they use electroshock therapy on gay ,usually young gay individuals, with the premise of eleminating the homosexual impulses. They try to electrocute you and Pavlov's dog you to condition yourself to run away from your natural thoughts. From who you are. Through pain.
The collective consciousness of America supported that man and gave him a desk in the White House.
My human rights don't fit into the "ideal" society of the majority. Neither do those of close friends who are of color, who follow a different religion, who are on a journey of gender identity, or those who seek refuge in America for the same reason we came here- democracy and freedom.
We had a chance as a whole to say to the world "We are brave and we are inclusive. We value those lives of others who are not from the same walk of life we are. We are compassionate to those seeking solace from harm. We are aware that all humans are equal in that we value the thoughts and contributions that come from a woman's mind as much as we do a man's. We respect that love is love and the government need not restrict or condemn that love because government cannot restrict or condemn something it does not own.
But we didn't.
We instead as a collective said that we are frightened, we are scared, we are easily bought into hateful speech and we see someone who has never walked a path of public service, in fact quite the opposite, as the best candidate to hold our nation's highest position expected to serve the public.
If you are a farmer, and you have to hand off your responsibilities and livelihood to a successor, would you pick someone who has never farmed a day in their life over someone who is actually criticized for being too much of a farmer? I don't think I would. But I think our country just did.
I don't know what is going to happen after this election result. Our country could stay stagnantly the same as a result of blockading policies thrown to us by the president-to-be. We could slope downward into a society of hate and factless information that leads to race wars, human rights oppression of the LGBTQ community, and worse. What I don't see anywhere, is progress.
So today, I'm disappointed. I don't like writing about negative thought forms because they can worry and fester and ruin a day. But I could not ignore what happened, for fear it might be a landmark in our country's decaying democracy.
I hope that in this next period of time we gather our thoughts, really think about what we did and how we all contributed to it, and prove to ourselves and whatever creator we believe in that we are better than the way we've represented ourself in government. I don't think any religious deity, regardless of what you believe, would be very proud of the position we just took on what our collective leader should be.
pride 2016
2016, while being one of the most bizarre years for all of us across the board, has also been one of great lessons that have made us all way more self aware than we were as a culture before. The same goes for me personally. I've had more personal jaw drops this year than my spiritual face can handle. And I've heard wiser friends talk before about how every now and then in life you have years that close up different parts of your life. Things come in full circle. You get closure on issues you've been carrying around for years from something random that happens. For me, 26 has been that. Take Atlanta Pride for example.
If you meet me now, you know after about two sentences that on the gay/straight scale I am somewhere between gay man and magical giant cupid sucking on a sugar free lollipop. But up until I went to college and actually discovered other kids like me, the tribe of gay youngin's who thought they were alone in the way they felt, I hid who I was. Not completely - I was involved in theatre and dance and loved clothes, but as obvious as I guess it might have been in retrospect, I still withheld a great big part of who I was to everyone in my life except four people. Four people. People outside of the LGBTQ community sometimes, and reasonably so, don't think about the perspective of someone having to hide more than their sexuality from someone. When someone is in the closet, they're not just keeping their "bedroom life" from their friends, they're keeping a major part of who they are, how they think, how they view the world, where their song comes from. Georgia isn't an easy place to be a gay kid. It's even harder to be a gay kid who doesn't come out of it messed up or ashamed of who they are. I somehow did, and I guess when I fled Georgia for college I took a chip on my shoulder with me. One that wrote off Georgia as ever having an environment where I would feel accepted and safe. That was hard for me, because Georgia is one of the most lush, beautiful oasis's of nature we have left in this country. Part of Georgia is still just that. Untouched by man, untainted by structure, just Georgia. But nonetheless, I was done because She was done too and always would be.
Then I experienced Pride.
I've been to Pride in Oklahoma City I think, I've been involved in Orlando's and went as a proud citizen of the Orlando LGBTQ community with my close friends. But I had never been to Atlanta's, because Georgia. I've never wanted to go and be a part of pride in the middle of the battlefield I shielded myself from all through adolescence. But that's my close-mindedness seeping through as it does occasionally. I had been gone from the area for so long, things couldn't have possibly stayed the exact same. So this year, 2016, the year of uncomfy, I wanted to go Atlanta on Pride weekend and feel just that- uncomfortable. I wanted to be boisterous and ME. I wanted to go as myself without being bridled down by what I felt I had to look like or wear and experience it as an adult. I still feel uncomfortable in Thomasville. Part of me instinctively wants to subvert myself when I'm in public in the south. Part of it could be called manners, but that's false. I can be a perfectly polite flamboyant gay man. It's about making others feel comfortable so that I'm not seen as a threat or as grotesque. But Atlanta already had a little step ahead just in numbers of LGBTQ in the area, and it's strong artistic demographic tends always to be more accepting (go figure). And if it was pride in Atlanta, that meant for a little while, I would be Cinderella and would be able to dance around within the mass of other magical giant cupid's sucking on sugar-free lollipops until the clock struck Monday. So I made arrangements to couch crash at two of my loving friends' houses ( featured in the photos below) and I made the trip.
The feeling I had during the parade leaked out of my eyes multiple times. When I experience too much of any emotion: happiness, sadness, awe...I bawl. Not only was I amongst my people, my tribe, I was surrounded by others, just there showing love and support for us. My crew and I nudged ourselves next to a straight couple with their young girl and baby, just there showing love and receiving it back equally. I saw a gay dad with his daughter, her anxiously crossing the parade lines repeatedly to high-five marchers and show her love to each of them. I saw an older man crawl up onto a lamppost, not out of outrage or protest, but to get a better view of the celebration. Atlanta had magic and I was Cinderella with blonde hair and eyebrows, dawning suspenders and a Wizard of Oz crop top.
Every time I form assumptions, just like anyone else using restricted perspective without paying respect to others, I'm proven wrong. I'm always shown how wrong I can be when I doubt love. Atlanta Pride showed me that while not all areas are as accepting as others, Georgia has grown up just like me. She's opened her heart to more viewpoints than what she was surrounded by growing up. She's reemerged as an adult who doesn't want to continue what she's experienced in her younger years. She loves more now... and that's something I can definitely hop on board with.
photos by me
That's Beautiful
"That's Beautiful."
It's a phrase I say often, probably 30+ times a day. It's an inside jokes with friends of mine. If I had a pull-string, that'd be what I wailed when it recoiled. The birth of this phrase happened like all personal taglines do, among friends spurred on by some funny moment that sticks to the soul and stays with us through an all-encompassing quote. I know my great friend Jordan in college would always say it. I don't know whether I started her or she started me, but I kept it because of the power I ended up giving the words. But first there's a backstory, like in all self-help tales.
I've always been extremely self conscious. When I was a kid, all the way up until high school, I was noticeably overweight. It affected my posture, my social interaction around pools, and even hanging out with friends. When you're a kid and all of your friends can grab a shirt out of the drawer if you get dirty, but you have to pack a bag because everybody else's shirts are too tight on you, it deflates your confidence. That kind of extreme self awareness gave me a sort of foresight into others and their personalities. I've always felt a very strong sense of empathy for others and their feelings in a given moment. Having that much perspective at a young age can be very heavy for an intellectual type, and it was for me. But at that age, not knowing how to fight a huge gloomy cloud in my mind, I did what I thought would work best : provide a healthy distraction. One thing that I used to channel light into what could be a very gloomy place, was theatre. Through acting, comedy, and dance, I felt validated because the entertainment I provided pleased others. My happiness tends to be a direct result from the happiness I provide others. By the end of high school, through perseverance and focus on my blooming artistry, I was a tall, lean, model-wannabe machine filled with distraction from the darkness.
In college the perceptive little boy I was became an even more perceptive young man, and therefore depression crept its way into my life in a more aggressive and oppressive manner. It was crippling. Being involved in arts and being able to escape my own mind was the only thing that made me feel purposeful. Second semester sophomore year I was only an active student in my dance school, and was in bed crying during most of my academic classes. I ended up accepting a contract with Royal Caribbean international as a dancer at the end of that school year thinking that a change of environment would help, and it did partially. But I, having the overwhelming perspective that I did, and knowing through my weight loss what self-discipline could do, knew that I would have to make a change within myself if I wanted to come out of the tunnel- or at least shed some light in it.
One of the tools I gave myself in that time period that has lasted (and worked) for the past seven years is the phrase for which this blog is titled. "That's Beautiful". Because if perception is a gift I'm given, and depression makes me all too aware of the ugly, I have to make a conscious driving effort to embrace and proclaim what is beautiful. The color green is my favorite. I can walk outside, scan the vast terrain of southern landscape that I live in, and focus on all that is green and growing, and feel that much better about where I am in the big scheme of things. "That's beautiful". When i'm around animals and feel their loving presence, I'm instantly warmed inside. "That's beautiful." When people tell me inspiring stories, or exciting news they receive, I always respond with, "That's beautiful." Because it is. Beautiful in most vocabularies is a superlative of aesthetic pleasure. If something is nice, we say "cute". If someone looks great, we say "she looks really pretty". But every bit of what is unique and special about something is more than just cute or pretty. It's filled with Beauty. Pointing out to myself and others that we are surrounded by limitless unique representations of beauty is encouraging. It's like sitting in a dark dismal room. When I can scan an environment or situation, and appreciate what I'm drawn to, what I'm pleased by, or what inspires me, it's like turning on lamps in that room. Bursts of warm light redressing the scenery to be instantly warmer and more inviting. More liveable. We have power in our words, saying and really meaning positive words empowers us.
I still have depression, but now it's not a crippling weakness or a burden I carry. I view it as a gift because it has given me a deeper understanding of my surroundings and other people. I'm not saying this "mantra" of beauty is a one-stop cure to the effects depression can have. But it sure damn helps. We cannot be our best selves if we don't have everything that goes into being well. Wellness is having a proper balance of the mind, body, and spirit. At the end of the day, we are all souls driving around in skin suits. We cannot forget that. When you become too aware of the outside and neglect the inside, you're not being well. You're being a shell. So if you are having a problem with depression, or just want to improve your outlook, I encourage to find (or feel free to borrow) a personal statement that reflects positivity out into what's around you. Say positive things to yourself in the mirror. If it feels too vulnerable, uncomfortable, or icky for you to do that, then you need to do it more than you probably know. It should feel good to look at yourself and proclaim all you appreciate about what you're given.
I'd love to talk about perspective, depression, or cool ways you like to add "light lamps" in your life. You can message me through the contact page on this website.
You're Beautiful. I love you
ronniep0p