#it keeps going

I thought I was braced for the bad stuff, how some people’s fear about what your simple existence means can dampen, darken, and corrode your joy, your sense of safety. I wasn’t prepared for the scale of that, but that’s not what this post is about.

I had no fucking clue that my existence as a queer person taking up space could mean so much joy and relief for others. And I was utterly unprepared for how that has only increased as I’ve aged, and as the world has become more connected. Eventually, a young trans man explained it to me, saying that seeing me just... living, 30 years older than him, brought him hope, a model for the future, that there was a future, for the first time. Several others chimed in to say the same and I felt airless for a dizzying second. I hadn’t been able to really understand, until that point, why various younger queer folk would thank me on Twitter, call me and others like me icons. We’d shrug: We’re just... being, we’d say. Exactly, they’d reply.

I thought that things were easier for young, queer folk now. That they have more access to information and vocabulary and acceptance than we did, growing up. Hell, I might never have worked out my gender stuff if younger folk weren’t out there being loud about their pronouns, breaking down microlabels, and sharing their feelings about their existence.

And that’s also true, but being visibly queer, and over 30, and it not being a tragedy? That gives people enormous hope. That’s a landmark to reach, a future to picture yourself in. My life is nowhere near perfect, but it exists.

And heavens, it’s good to know that these proliferating silver hairs and wrinkles are beautiful signs for those who long for the decades’ stretch between now and then.

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