First and foremost, let me apologize for any forthcoming political incorrectness. It is sort of bound to come from this.
Second, I feel stupid for even posting any of this. Look, the gay community faces a lot of serious, troubling issues. Employment discrimination, for one. Housing issues, adoption issues, marriage issues (of course), not to mention ridiculous amounts of youth homelessness, bullying, and suicide. I care deeply about all of these issues, and I think they are far, far more important than what I am writing about here now. And I will do what I can to help address and fix those issues.
But I think there's another problem that lots of young gay men and women deal with, and that gets talked about a whole lot less. In part because those other issues ARE so much more important, but also in part because people are less willing to talk about things are less serious, and less dangerous, but just as damaging to the self-esteem and self-worth of our LGBT youth.
It is hard to come out. And it involves a number of factors - how accepting someone is of their own sexuality, how accepting their family or friends are of that sexuality (or how accepting any gay youth thinks that their family or friends may be of it), how accepting their respective religion may be of that sexuality (or, again, how accepting anyone thinks their religion may be of that sexuality). Everyone's journey to acceptance is different, and involves different types of considerations and judgements. Everyone progresses along that path in a unique way, and every path is valuable and valid.
But every gay person knows the pain and hurt associated with being presented an opportunity for growth and acceptance, and having the opportunity be taken away for the sake of someone else's closet. And as wrong as it would be to rob that other person of their own personal journey, it still hurts to have it thrown in your face.
Tonight, it came to my attention that someone in the room with me was, for lack of any better, more eloquent words, "like me." And, for myriad reasons, not least of which had to do with (I imagine) that own individual's personal journey beyond the closet doors, I never had the opportunity to talk to that person about his own experience, or to share my own with him.
In layman's terms: I was in a heteronormative setting, surrounded by straight women and uber-straight men (college football players), discovered one of them happened to be gay, and missed the opportunity to connect with that person.
By "connect," I do not at all mean "hook up with" or "get with." As I'm sure plenty of other LGBT people can relate to, my first line of thinking tonight was something along the lines of - "Oh, this person is gay, too - maybe they could be a potential romantic interest, a potential boyfriend." But the disappointment associated with the deflation of that thought had nothing to do with sex, or intimacy, or even romance.
It had everything to do with a lost opportunity for communion. To be honest, it's hard to put into words, and I worry (very much) about my attempt here to do so. I believe very much in the need to build coalitions among and bridges between every marginalized identity - whether that marginalization be based upon sexuality, or race, or gender, or religion, or what have you. But, at risk of sounding politically incorrect, I would venture to say that there is something unique in the experience of a "sexual minority" missing the opportunity to connect with someone of a similar "persuasion" in an otherwise heteronormative environment.
I wasn't upset tonight because I missed a chance at sex, as many may believe I am saying. Putting aside the notion that this other person may have even been interested in me in that way, or that I may have been interested in him in that way (for goodness sake, I hardly even knew the guy!), it was still just a powerful moment to KNOW that this other person felt the same way that I did (at least sexually, that is).
LGBT people live their lives within a largely "invisible" identity. By and large, racial minorities, religious minorities, and women are immediately known and defined by their own "Otherness." LGBT people are not. They can, for better or worse, hide their own identities in a way that members of these other minority groups cannot. The very societal "need" for these people to "come out" makes this evident. And while this enables us LGBT people to follow our own individual paths and develop our own identities in the ways in which are most comfortable for us, it also hampers our ability to build a community and learn from one another and through each other's individual experiences.
The sheer knowledge that we are not alone within a community, a group of friends, or even a room can provide us with a level of acceptance and comfort that could otherwise be unavailable to us. And so, when we learn of this connection, only to have it taken away from us on account of the pressures that society places on each of us to remain in the closet, it can have a profound effect upon us that is hard to put into words and is understandably difficult for others to comprehend or be empathetic toward.
This is the reason why I found myself distressed tonight, in a way that other people may believe to be irrational or otherwise unreasonable. Yet for me, and probably for many of my LGBT brothers, sisters and zisters/zothers (I'm sorry for how incorrect these pronouns may be - I truly mean no offense at all, please correct me as you will), this is something that is familiar and very much understandable. I know what it feels like for someone you care about to turn around and say - "Sorry, but I'm not actually gay, despite what I may have said to you or done". I know what it feels like when someone tells you one thing in private, and then refuses to even meet your eyes when their friends are around. When someone calls you by an affectionate name, and then turns around and introduces you as their "friend," I and every other LGBT person knows how it feels - it hurts. It doesn't only make you question that one relationship, but also the entire identity which you have worked so hard to achieve and be comfortable with.
Even though it's not something that people talk about very often (and I mean, come on, who would want to talk about it?), it indeed cuts just as deeply as does turning on the television and watching a leading presidential candidate say that you don't deserve equal rights. It is the product of our culture, one which tells us all, time and again, that any deviance from the sexual norm is dangerous, deranged, and immoral. It sets us ALL back, and I think it's time that we talk about it.
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