I collect books. Two or three at a time, every couple months, whatever fits the budget. I want to read things written by women. Queer people. Trans people. Lesbians. Gay folks. I want to hold all of these beautiful books in my hands like I'm cherishing the conversation, and it honestly feels like a gift to be able to cradle these stories. I really and truly love it. I look over at my bookshelf to see lifeworks from people scattered all over the world, spanning generations, religions, and mindsets. I've brought them back in my luggage, found them online, in airports, library sales, and in dusty old stores where the keeper of the books is as creaky as the floorboards.
There's largely a common theme on these shelves; all of my bookshelf-people have consciously crafted their lives to be outside of standard-issue expectations. They live colorfully, openly when they can. Some have to be secret and choose to find other queerfolk in secret. Some have written under pseudonyms, so they can create their own world where they can be safe and loved. They live as much of their truth as they are able to.
My little gay library has slowly grown over the years. It was secret for me at first, too-- tiny magazine clippings I'd hide in the middle of church approved biographies about missionaries. Amelia Earhart was one of those first clippings, mostly because she was cute as heck and also an Adventurer. My ten year old mind could think of no higher calling. Looking back it seems like she'd be easily deniable as a gay crush. Look, mom...a historical figure! But in all of my blushing flustered thoughts, that picture would have shown my parents that I was one of those fruity people. The sinners, you know the kind.
These last couple years have me feeling like it's awfully important to hold these books dear. This past 2024 election and these outrageous, egregious actions by the people in the US government have underscored that feeling for me. Media and AI can so easily change stories around to whatever narrative best suits those in positions of power. Books (specifically print books) are tangibly *here*. We can share them. We can offer them to each other and not worry so much if a filter has replaced someone's face.
Books are human-made and fallible, sure. Sometimes they have outdated opinions. But they give us historical touchstones on where people have gone before, so that we can guide ourselves through this new landscape with better understanding. They offer fully fledged discussion that goes deep into people's thoughts, rather than a quick thirty seconds of an abbreviated idea. Fiction and sci-fi offer us possibilities. They help us to feel immersed in worlds that could be true. The idea of hope is so important to foster, because it's the spark that ends up fueling how I functionally live my life. Books give me a little mangrove nursery where I can help that spark of hope grow just a bit brighter.
I wrote that last night, and then woke up this morning to read about someone in Syracuse who wasn't able to keep going. They died wrapped in a trans flag, on top of a hospital garage. I didn't know them and I don't know you either, dear friend, but this is what I do know; I'm glad you exist. I'm glad you're here and are walking, rolling, or sliding around with all of your differences. Did you know I saw three different queer people at the car dealership the other day, and just seeing them brightened my whole afternoon? We didn't even talk, I just loved that they were there with me, in the same space. I'm glad you're alive, too, even without having met you. These words are all I can offer to you. I know we can't all be in the same room right now, just like we couldn't be on top of that parking garage in Syracuse. But just for a minute, would you imagine we are? We can talk, or not. We can hold hands and curl up together, or not. It doesn't matter to me, really, I just want you to know that I am here with you and you're here with me.
I have no idea what the next four years will look like, but if you see a tall quiet butch walking around with a clean fade...ask me what's on my bookshelf. I'd be delighted to share.
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Drawing on the surprisingly sophisticated classical Jewish perspective on sex and gender, Rabbi David Teutch advocates for celebration and inclusion of transgender people as a fundamental issue of justice.
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My partner Alex and I are looking to learn more about the trans and gender variant community in Texas. If you want to meet us for coffee or just chat, we'd love to hear from you about your experiences of safety in your community in Texas.
Please contact us if you are:
- trans or gender variant
- in the central/south Texas community
- would like to talk with us about safety within your community.
We realize that trans people of color are some of the most underrepresented in the LGBTQIA community, and if you are a trans person of color, we want to hear your story.
