This first sentence may sound odd, but one of these days I'll explain... My good friend David Mailloux whom I have never met wrote the article below and I couldn't help but post it, It carries such a great message. We can all be a hero in this fight.
Last month, when the ENDA-4 (that's Chas Kirven, Michelle Wright, Janine Carmona, and Sam Ames) went to Speaker Nancy Pelosi's office in D.C. and stayed there until they were arrested, I was awe-struck. I had been equally awe-struck earlier in the day when Robin, Dan, and Jim got arrested in front of the White House, and then, there were Kip and the amazing folks in San Fran.
All of this just blew my mind. I wanted to be there. I should have been there.
Later (that night? the next day?), I found myself Tweeting back and forth with Sam, a first-year law student (and Janine's girlfriend), and realized a mutual admiration. We've even made arrangements to do shots and trash-talk religious conservatives when I can get down to D.C. I've never met Sam in person, but I really think she's just the bees' knees and beyond.
Before we go any further, Sam is one of my heroes. She is younger than I was when I came out, yet she's head-first into a dangerous and beautiful experience. At an age where I was afraid of my own shadow and still dating women, she is so far out there in the world, getting arrested for all of us. She is risking her future for full LGBT equality. She has so much of my respect...
I know I'm all over the place here. Bear with me.
Earlier this weekend, I came to the realization that the massive-scale event I hoped to have in Maine, that I had been working on with friends for months now, was on life support. Others involved seemed to be among the world of the living yesterday, but I still found myself vigilant at the bedside of the nearly dead.
And as it is with every vigil, you recall the beautiful memories of the life passing away in front of you, and you cry, and you get angry, and you drink and sometimes eat far too much. And you wish things had happened differently. You mourn a life not yet gone, because you realize, no matter what you do, it's about to go. The world rushes past you in rapid-fire motions, but still, you stand there at normal speed, looking down, knowing what you must do.
In so many ways, I knew I had to move on, but I couldn't find the will to do so.
A couple of hours ago, after seeing something Sam wrote on Facebook, I went down to the basement to switch loads of laundry around. And I found myself thinking about this woman, more than 11 years my junior, who really was one of my heroes. I thought about my other heroes in this movement, what they do, what we all have done, and it dawned on me.
Somewhere between clean underwear and dirty sheets, like Paul on the road to Damascus, except slightly less dramatic (as bible stories tend to be)...
I need to be my own hero.
I can stand at the bedside of my own losses and mourn them, while admiring my heroes in this movement from afar, or I can stand up and realize those losses, move on, join them, and become my own hero. I can accomplish that which I admire so readily among others and find strength in those actions.
And so I told myself: the first step toward realizing your ability to enact change is to push your fat ass out there and just fucking do it. Again. Seriously. You were there before. Hello, David, Willow, and the Kiss-In? You can go back there now.
So, starting today, starting now, I will plan. I will strategize. Someday again and soon, I will chant. I will march. I will even get arrested.
And I write these words not from want to do so, but as a result of immediacy, necessity, desperation. I will no longer dwell upon my failures and I will not wait for or anticipate sympathy for my losses. I must move ahead.
I must live this life. It is there in front of me, slapping me in the face. It is like a child, starving for attention - not just mine, but everybody's.
This Movement is young and pretty, yet bloody and sweaty and gritty and loud. It cannot, nor should it wait for excessive realization of loss. It is so beautiful that I catch my breath on its wonder and glory as well as the dust kicked up by its participants. It is constantly in motion. It wields its own startling weapons, as a war involving both words and actions.
And this is a life worth living. I know this.
And so I will stand up, dust myself off, and run. I will run toward the glow on the horizon. I will choke on that dust, I will stumble, but I will catch myself from falling and I will keep running.
I will catch up to my heroes and grab hold of their hands and run alongside them. Some of them have been waiting for me.
And soon enough, I will become my own hero.
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