At the end of June, I packed up our studio, took the pups to our favorite groomer and planned a night out to say farewell. Following a week of rest 'down the shore,' my two sisters, two puppies and I packed up my old gold Lexus and drove to meet my girlfriend at our new home. Jo went active duty earlier this year and I stayed back to wrap up lose ends before I relocated. Unfortunately, I will not disclose the location due to DADT, but it is certainly a change of pace.
Since I accompanied Jo, I have been wearing an invisible poncho to shield the hurricane of questions. Everyone loves to ask 'So what are you doing?' or 'What are you going to now?' I've been avoiding the phone, Facebook chat, and even evenings out with new friends. It wasn't until last weekend that I realized I've perpetuated this worry and concern from my friends and loved ones.
Jo's best friend from college was in town and we were catching up over cocktails at one of the local bars. Bryn is an Irish beauty, retired track star and driven grassroots activist. Wearing a track t-shirt from their alma mater, Brynny was approached by a middle-aged balding bar-fly with a lame attempt to introduce himself. Turns out they know the same athletic trainer and Baldy had a great Mexican restaurant suggestion for dinner: totally worth the awkward scene of his flirting attempt.
He eventually turned the conversation away from the grassroots runner to me "And what are you doing down here?"
"Me?" I giggled, "I unpack, lay by the pool. I'm trying to write."
He smiled sympathetically and threw out an unconvincing, "Good for you." As he walked away, the barrage began.
"You need to own your writing, Missy." Bryn instructed. I was speechless and she was right. "You have talent and the time. Now, harness your vision and do it!"
My inability to take ownership for 'what I'm doing down here' has been a theme since I moved. I make jokes, act awkward and never, ever tell anyone that I have a grand plan. But the truth is, I've started my novel (well, again) and freelance projects, joined the state writer's association and signed up for an upcoming conference. I don't know why I can not confidently declare, "I am a writer." It did take me six and a half years after my first girl-on-girl kiss to call myself a lesbian; I suppose I attach labels at a slightly slower pace.
This weekend, I found an awesome quote in "The Advocate." Dustin Lance Black, using a Harvey Milk metaphor, inspires, "The only ways we've ever made advances are when we've named the dream. Not the crumbs, not the little pieces around the edges. You have got to name the dream, or you'll never get it."
Hmm....my dream? Through writing, I would like to continue the quest towards equal rights for all and unify the gay community by bringing them out of the closet and into a more mainstream light.
Ok, Dustin and Harvey. I am a writer. Now, I just need the backbone to say it with confidence and the momentum to achieve the dream.
