I try not to be out in a really loud or flashy kind of way. Rainbows in my world are more like reflected bands of colour—tiny oil slicks in a pavement puddle—than a Lucky Charms ad. Around the corner. Overlooked, if you’re rushing. Magically mundane, in that everyday kind of way.
I love this about my community though: we’re getting ever-better at creating space for the many ways there are to be you, and do you, and live here. We’re tacking on symbols to the end of that acronym like nobody’s counting. And nobody is counting, because you’re infinite. It’s ok to be quiet. It’s ok to be loud. Its OK to love her. Its even OK to tell other people you do.
One of the implications of coming out quietly, is that I have had to do it over, and over (and over and over). For a few years there, every day felt like my own personal version of National Coming Out Day. And honestly, it’s been a tricky conversation to have with the adults in my life. Reproduction and intimacy went from matters of privacy to matters of politic the day I shared that part of me out loud (or, out quiet).
Honesty with my students has always been easier, because the message I needed to hear at that age pervades: two people who love each other is always, incontrovertibly, good. Always. All ways.
I am so incredibly grateful to share my life with an incredible woman, and for the opportunity to puddle-jump rainbows in my everyday, and model acceptance in my teaching career. To my people: the out loud, out quiet, out over and over, still finding their way out, and allies on the inside. Take good care of each other, today and all days.